Raging Quiet
by Devo Girl
Summary: A sequel to Raging Quiet by Sherryl Jordan. Teen romance set in a fictional version of the middle ages, featuring deaf characters. What happens when Marnie and Raven start their new life together? Picks up right where the book ended.
1. Chapter 1

[Raging Quiet and all the characters in the original novel are the property of the author, Sherryl Jordan. I am not profiting from the use of these characters or this story.]

Marnie stood up in the cart as they crested the hill, marveling at the town of Killacurreen laid out before them. Raven, holding the reins, was concentrating on the road ahead, but she shook his arm and pointed to the town below. Neither of them had seen anything like it. A huge jumble of houses crowded along the coast, and beyond that lay the ocean, shining and unimaginably vast. As they slowly approached, they could see a great number of people darting here and there, the whole town alive with movement like an anthill.

Our new home, Marnie said. Raven looked at her doubtfully.

It was not hard to find the church, even among the maze of streets with the houses all jammed together. The steeple rose high above even the tallest house, in the center of town. The church faced onto a wide green. Once inside, a servant directed them to Father Seamus, in the rectory. The priest, a kindly-looking man with white hair and a wrinkled face greeted them warmly before Marnie even introduced herself, and upon hearing how far they had come, insisted on bringing out food before they even began to discuss their business.

As they finished their meal, Father Seamus read Father Brannan's letter, which Marnie had given him. He read slowly, first with concern, then with a smile.

"This is quite a tale, but I think I had best hear it from your own lips."

Marnie began to talk, but was soon interrupted by Raven pounding angrily on the table. She tried to gesture for him to be patient, but he would not be put off. When she turned away from him to face Father Seamus, he pulled her back around to him.

_No! No more flap-flap with the mouth. Talk to me too!_ His hands punched the air insistently.

Father Seamus watched this exchange with lively interest, and Marnie looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry. Raven, my…husband…he can't hear or speak. I talk to him with hand signs, but he gets so angry when I leave him out of the conversation."

But rather than ignoring or pulling away from the increasingly agitated Raven, to her great surprise, Father Seamus turned to him with a look of great concern.

"Well then, we must speak to him in the language he can understand. Please, by all means, use your gestures, and I would be greatly obliged if you showed me their meaning." For a moment, silence fell over all three, as they sat staring at each other. Marnie was at a loss. Even Father Brannan had not been so understanding.

Father Seamus broke the silence again. "It occurs to me that we have not yet even been introduced properly." He looked directly at Raven. "My name is Father Seamus," he said slowly, while patting his chest with his palm.

The change in Raven was immediate: like the clouds before the sun his face cleared and he smiled. He patted his own chest then made the mark of a large letter R against it.

"That's how he says his name," Marnie explained. "This is me," she added, making an M on her own chest.

"How very clever!" Father Seamus explained. "But how am I to indicate my name?" Again he watched with keen interested as the two dark heads turned towards each other and their hands flew quickly and precisely.

_He wants us to think of a hand-word for his name_, Marnie explained. "Father Seamus, Father Seamus," she whispered to herself, but could think of nothing.

Raven imitated the shape of her mouth, but no sounds came out. He made the sign of a cross on his chest.

_No_, she said, _that's for Father Brannan, back in the village. Two priests, same name, we will get confused. No, it must be a different name._

Raven looked Father Seamus over consideringly. Over his cassock, so similar to Father Brannan's, he wore a large cross on a silver chain, as a sign of office. Raven traced the shape with his thumb and forefinger, holding them in the shape of a V and drawing down from his collarbone to his chest. He pointed at the cross then made the sign again and looked inquiringly at Marnie.

"Yes!" she cried. _Clever_. She repeated the sign. "Father Seamus, this will be your name." And she showed him the shaking-hands sign_: pleased to meet you_.

Father Seamus beamed as he repeated both signs. "Excellent! Well now that we are acquainted, I would like to hear your story."

At his encouragement, Marnie began to speak and sign at the same time, but she found it very slow going, trying to keep both of them in sight and to think of enough signs for all the words. It was painful, too, to relate the whole story of how Raven had been mistreated in the village, and of her short, unhappy marriage to Isake Isherwood, and how his younger brother Pierce came to persecute her for her inheritance after Isake died. And of how Pierce turned the villagers against her.

"I taught Raven to use hand-words," she explained, "But the villagers didn't like me taking care of him and Pierce wanted the house, so he told everyone it was witchcraft, and then…" her voice faltered, and she paused, rubbing her burned palm. It was still stiff, and it made her signs slow and awkward.

Father Seamus looked pained. "The trial," he murmured, and she nodded.

"Please," she said. "We just want to live in peace here, but I'm afraid the story will follow us and the same thing will happen again. Please don't tell anyone how the villagers treated Raven, or what they did to me." She looked at him imploringly, still rubbing her palm.

Father Seamus smiled at both of them. "Of course not."

Later that night, as they were preparing to go to sleep in the tiny cell Father Seamus had provided for them, before Marnie could blow out the candle, Raven caught her hands in his, and stroked her burned palm gently. She gave him with a questioning look.

_Because of me? _he asked_. The people in the village burn your hand because of hand-words?_

Marnie felt her stomach sink. She tried to turn away, but he pulled her back.

_Tell me! Why don't you tell me things? I tell you everything._

She sighed. _I didn't want you to be sad for me. Yes, Pierce told a lie and said the hand-words were bad, they would… they would make bad things happen… the villagers were frightened, so they tried to hurt me, but Father Brennan stopped them. _

She could see anger and outrage settle into his face, so she continued quickly, _Please, it's all over now. Past. Think about it no more. We live here, where people are more kind. We have gold, and Father Seamus will help us build a new house. We will live there together and be happy. Happy always together._

Marnie looked about her with dissatisfaction. The nervous, unsettled feeling that had slowly been growing over the past few days now seemed to grip her at all times, and made her long for their simple life in Torcurra.

With some reservation, she had told Father Seamus about the ring that was her inheritance from her former husband. To her vast relief, the priest promised to keep it secret, and to sell the jewels in it piece by piece. Even more obliging, he had helped them to find a new home. Knowing Raven would feel nervous in the middle of the crowded town, she had decided to buy a plot of land at the end of a winding track leading into the hills, and to have a new house built there.

Eager to leave the cramped quarters in the rectory, they had moved into the new house as soon as the roof was finished, but before the work on the interior had been completed. The new house was very grand indeed, with a warm wood floor rather than flagstones, and a large enclosed fireplace right in the middle with a real chimney, rather than a simple hole in the roof. On one side of the chimney was the large common room with a proper dining table and a settle, and on the other side was a closed-off kitchen with an ample hearth and a small warming box built right into the chimney. At first she had been delighted.

But along with the house, Father Seamus had insisted they take on servants as befit their new wealth, and had provided them with two of his elderly and unattached parishioners. Katriona, who did the cooking and cleaning, was a hard, taciturn woman with a thin face like a hatchet. She would only speak to Marnie, and her thin face grew if possible even more disagreeable when she saw Raven signing. Raven, quick to read her expressions, taken an instant dislike to her, and the two were constantly at odds, to Marnie's distress.

The manservant, Rufus, had once been a sailor on one of the big merchant ships that docked in Killacurreen, but as he grew old he had gradually become hard of hearing. Father Seamus had presented this fact to Marnie as if it were a piece of great good luck, which made her decidedly uncomfortable. Did he really think that Raven would feel some fellowship with the old man? she wondered in exasperation. It seemed far from likely. Rufus could understand her if she shouted very loudly, but seemed if anything even more disinclined than Katriona to learn hand-words, or even to commune with any other person. He spent most of his time in the spacious yard, preparing the barn for the animals that they would soon purchase, and chopping firewood, for although it was early spring, the weather was still very cold. Marnie felt oppressed by these two additions to her household. It was hard enough to be constantly translating and explaining for Raven. She was secretly glad that Rufus seemed to shun human contact.

In addition to these unwelcoming companions, the house was full all day long with the noise and bustle of the carpenters who were completing the upstairs and the interior walls. In order to finish more quickly, they were also sleeping in the house. Although she and Raven had a splendid new bed with proper hangings, Marnie was disinclined to passion when there were so many strangers sleeping on the floor directly beside her, and she turned away Raven's amorous advances, much to his displeasure. She was also obliged to provide meals for all the workmen, which kept her and Katriona busy in the half-finished kitchen from morning to night. Although the noise of the workmen's hammers did not bother him, Raven seemed unhappy and nervous around so many strangers, and was spending most of his time out of the house. She did not ask where he went every day.

The neighbors who had sold them the land were indeed as kind and generous as Father Seamus had promised. The master, Donal, worked as a joiner in a shed behind the house, and had seemed very glad of the extra income from the sale of the unused half of his land. His wife Fhiona had seemed even more glad at the prospect of having new neighbors so close at hand. The new house had been set beside the old, and a low fence divided the two yards in the back, high enough to keep the livestock from wandering but low enough to visit over. Right in the middle of the fence was a well, further ensuring congress between the two households.

"We shall be the best of friends!" Fhiona had exclaimed upon meeting Marnie, and had clasped her hands warmly. Marnie instantly took a liking to her, with her round ruddy cheeks, easy smile and reddish curls escaping her kerchief. But they had had little enough time for visiting, for just two days after the new neighbors took up residence, Fhiona had been brought to bed with the birth of her first child, and Marnie had not seen her since.

Donal had assured her that all was well, the babe was a girl, then he had gone to work in the shed. He had very kindly provided them with the new furniture in the house, free of charge, and Marnie felt intensely guilty that this extra work had displaced his paying trade, so she was not eager to speak at length with him either. For his part, Donal did not seem like one to engage in idle chatter. He was tall and spare, with a serious eye, seemingly interested only in his work.

Things came to a head one beautiful day in early summer. Marnie was inspecting the kitchen garden, while Raven lolled in the sunshine on the grass beside her. She had thought it too early for the peas to be ripe, but the warm weather had hastened them along, and she pulled pod after fat pod until her hands were full. Carefully transferring the peas to her apron, she shook Raven's shoulder and with one hand gestured for him to bring her a bowl from the house. He stood with a grunt and she went back to her picking.

A few moments later she heard a crash, followed by the sound of Katriona's voice shouting imprecations and the unmistakable inchoate bellowing of an enraged Raven.

Peas flying from her hands, she rushed into the kitchen to find the bowl broken on the floor and Katriona and Raven both in a red-faced passion. As she entered they both turned to her, but she put up her hand for Raven to wait while she demanded of Katriona, "What is the meaning of this?"

"He rushed in here and snatched away the best bowl, the sly sneaking devil, but I was too quick for him, oh yes!" She seemed prepared to continue, but Marnie cut her off and turned to Raven.

_What happened?_

_I get the bowl, you asked me to get_, he signed angrily. _She took from my hands, we pull, pull, back and forth, then it fell on the floor. I get for you, she is angry, Katriona is stupid, stupid._

As he made the signs, suddenly, before Marnie realized what was happening, Katriona lunged forward and boxed him smartly on the ears, shrieking "Devil! Devil!"

He let out a wail. For a moment Marnie was afraid Raven would attack Katriona and she would not be able to stop him, but instead he turned to her with a look of shock and hurt that pierced her to the heart. Then in an instant he had slipped out the front door, slamming it loudly behind him.

Marnie rounded on Katriona. "You insolent hussy!" she had never used such language with someone older than herself, but she was too enraged to notice. "How dare you strike your master!"

"Master, pah, he is dumb sneaking creature!" Marnie stared at her in wide-eyed shock. "He has the devil in him! I saw him try to put a hex on me, but I was too quick for him, haha!"

"Whatever do you mean? I have told you, this is how we talk." Marnie was still in a rage, but she felt uneasy at the turn this was taking.

"You saw it too," said Katriona triumphantly. "He made the sign of the devil's horns at me." She crossed herself hastily at the memory.

"What, you mean this?" Marnie asked, as she put her two index fingers up against her forehead. "You foolish old woman! That's the name we gave to you, Katriona, Kat, cat, it's just the word for cat. And _I_ sent him here to bring me a bowl in the garden, which you would have known if you would learn the signs." She bent down to pick up the pieces of the broken bowl.

Katriona drew back in disgust. "I'll do no such thing. It's uncanny and uncivilized. Imagine, calling me a cat. What sort of mummery is that?"

Suddenly Marnie felt the thread of her patience snap. She was tired, tired of being the only one who knew the signs, of translating everything, being the sole link between Raven and the rest of the world. Why were they all so stubborn? She flung a shard of the bowl at the floor. "You WILL learn the signs!"

"I will not!" Katriona's hard eyes glinted flatly.

"Then you will be gone from here this minute! I'll not have a servant here who does not respect her master!"

Katriona looked at her in disbelief.

"Do you still defy me?" Marnie shouted. "Hag! Be gone at once! Let me never see your face here again!" So saying, she strode to the corner of the common room, picked up the small box that held Katriona's things, and heaved it out the front door as hard as she could. Katriona followed after. She paused long enough to pick up her box and shriek, "And who in their right mind would stay in such a household? You may both go to the devil!" And with that she set off on the road back to Killacurreen.

Marnie realized to her consternation that Fhiona was sitting in front of her house with a spindle and the baby in a cradle at her feet. From the wide-eyed look on her friendly face it was clear she had not missed their exchange.

Marnie ducked her head. "I beg your pardon." She turned to go back in the house, but Fhiona called her back.

"Mistress, wait!" She pushed over, making room on the bench. "I see you are in some distress, pray sit by me and be comforted. Nay, nay, do not say no! Are we not neighbors and friends?"

Marnie sank down beside her and to her shame dissolved into hiccupping tears as the short tale burst forth.

Fhiona put a comforting arm around her. "Hush now, do not fret, you were in the right of it. That woman is a hard, grasping old shrew, I thought so since ever I clapped eyes on her. The only shame is that you did not send her off sooner."

Marnie shook her head. "It's Raven I'm worried about. She struck him and now he's run off. Oh, what if he doesn't come back?"

"Over such a silly trifle? I'm sure he's only gone off to cool his anger. He'll be back by and by. I've seen the potty looks he give you, surely he could not bear to stay away more than a few hours."

Marnie began to sob harder. "You don't understand! In Torcurra they beat him all the time. Before I made up the hand-words, they thought he was mad and whipped him because he couldn't speak or understand what was said to him."

Fhiona looked at her in surprise. "You made up the hand-words yourself?"

"Well, yes," Marnie replied, wiping her eyes. "What did you suppose?"

"I didn't suppose anything. I honestly never thought of it." Fhiona stroked her arm in sympathy. "But my goodness, you have chosen a hard path."

Marnie hung her head. "I didn't want anyone here to know. In Torcurra he was only ever the mad boy, but I hoped that here we could start a new life together, and people would not call him mad or simple. And when I made up the hand-words, they said it was witchcraft." She had not meant to say any of it, but once the words started to tumble out she found she could not stop herself. "And now it will be the same here, all because of that horrid woman! She said he is possessed by the Devil, and now here too they will come with their trials and accusations." She broke into a fresh paroxysm of sobbing.

Fhiona glanced at Marnie's burned hand, but did not comment on it. "Hush, now hush! Look, you woke the baby." She removed her arm from Marnie and lifted the squalling baby to her knee. "Never you fret about that. She is just one bitter old hag, and Killacurreen is a big place! I have heard of these trials in the country but there has never been one here, mark my words. The people here are far too occupied with trade to listen to such idle talk. And if Father Seamus says that you are God's servant, the people will heed him."

Marnie sighed. "I hope you are right."

Fhiona smiled at her. "That's my girl! Do not be fretting over what may come, but think now on the task at hand. You need a new maid right quick to help you with that fine new house."

Marnie put out a finger and the baby, now quieted, grasped it firmly. "Yes, a new maid who will learn the hand-words. This is our household, Raven's and mine, and all who are in it must learn our language."

"I have the very thing!" Fhiona exclaimed. "My cousin Elly lives over on the other side of town. She's just come fifteen, and now that the younger ones have grown up her mother was just saying if she won't marry, it's high time she earned her own keep. I will send over to her directly and she can start tomorrow. Oh but she is a clever little thing, I will explain it all to her and you will all get on famously. The master will be glad when he comes home."

If he comes home, Marnie thought gloomily, her stomach twisting as she recalled the look of betrayal and pain she had seen in his eyes.

Elly appeared on her doorstep the next morning. She was as Fhiona had promised, a clever, obliging girl, small and sturdy, with the same reddish brown curls and a cheerful, open face, with a dimple in her right cheek when she smiled. She exclaimed happily over the big new house, and immediately set to work shoveling the cold ashes and sweeping the hearth, chattering the whole time.

"Fhiona told me about the master," she said. Then noticing Marnie's apprehensive expression, she added quickly, "Now never you mind! What's a bit of deafness? Nothing at all, and Fhiona says he is the kindest creature, and handsome too!"

"She said that?"

"Why yes, and if she said so, it must be true. Is he about?"

Marnie looked away. He had not come home at all that night. "No, he's…out."

Elly added quickly, "Oh but you must teach me these hand-words, I dearly want to learn! Imagine speaking without using your mouth! What a lark!"

And in spite of her anxiety, Marnie's spirits lifted just a bit as she began the slow process of teaching Elly all the words she had invented. The girl was a quick study, and treated it all as a great game, which surprised Marnie. She had made up the words out of necessity, yet it had always been a source of worry for her: worry that she never had enough words for all they needed to say, and worry at the anger and fear they seemed to provoke in others. And while Father Brannan had called her a saint, she had never before taught the words to someone who thought of it as fun. Her heart felt lighter, and for the first time she began to feel like the mistress of her own home.

Her delight was short-lived, however, as the day passed without any sign of Raven. As the day stretched into a week, she became more and more uneasy, and found herself obliged to explain the whole story to Elly, who looked very shocked and even cried a bit with her.

"How monstrous!" she cried. "But where could he be? Could you not send Rufus out to look for him?"

"No, Rufus keeps to himself." And indeed, he had taken to spending nearly all his time in the barn with the animals, or hoeing the turnips in the garden. "I promised Raven he may always have his freedom, like before. He will come back when he is ready." If he comes back, she added to herself, for the hundredth time.

By the sixth day the weather had turned stormy. Marnie listened to the rain pattering on the roof and tried to reassure herself by recalling how many rainy days Raven had spent out of doors in Torcurra. As the day went on the clouds gathered more thickly and the rain increased, until they were obliged to light candles to lighten the gloom. Perhaps she should send for Father Seamus to help search for him. But just as the night was truly settling, Marnie heard a wet thump against the front door. As she opened it, Raven tumbled into the house and lay half sprawled upon the floor.

She flung her arms around him, exclaiming out loud, overcome by mingled distress and relief. He looked almost as he had in Torcurra a year ago: his clothes were dirty and torn, his hands and face smudged with dirt, and leaves and twigs caught in his hair. The hollows in his cheeks and around his eyes had returned.

_Where did you go? I was worried!_ Raven did not reply, but only looked at her listlessly, then turned away. Marnie shifted around him, moving into his line of sight. _I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Katriona is bad, bad. I sent her away. She no time come here again, I promise!_

Raven sighed. _Hungry_, was all he replied.

Fortunately dinner was nearly ready, and Elly dashed about setting the table while Marnie led the reluctant Raven to a spot on the bench closest to the fire. He ate slowly but in great quantity. Has he had nothing at all since he left? Marnie wondered

As they ate, she attempted to introduce Elly, using the new name-sign they had made up. _I'm Elly_, she said, holding her knuckle to her cheek and twisting it to indicate the dimple. _Hello. Friend. You, me, friend_. She was excited to try her new words, but Raven hardly seemed to notice her.

_See Elly sign good_, Marnie tried to encourage her. _She learn good, talk to you. New rule, everyone in this house learn hand-words, hand-talk all the time_. Raven only grunted and she was not sure he had been paying attention. His face, usually so open and expressive, was shuttered and still.

After they had eaten, she sent Rufus to fetch water in great quantities from the well, and set Elly to heating it on the stove, then pulled the tub in front of the fire and filled it with hot water. Seeing what they were about, Raven abruptly stood up from the table, shucked off all his clothes, and stepped in. Marnie glanced at Elly, worried the girl might be taken aback at seeing her new master naked, but to Marnie's relief she never turned a hair.

Raven settled into the steaming bath with a strangled sigh and allowed the two girls to wash him. As Elly went to scrub his back, she at last lost her composure at the sight of the scars there. They had long since healed, but the white raised lines crisscrossing his back bespoke the cruelty he had endured in Torcurra.

"Oh the shame of it!" Elly cried. Marnie nodded grimly but said nothing.

As soon as the bath was over and he had changed into dry clothes, Raven curled up on the hearth like a cat and fell into a deep sleep. Marnie covered him with a blanket, then began to prepare for bed herself.

"Will he be all right?" Elly whispered.

Marnie gave a short laugh, and replied in a normal voice, "There's no need to whisper, if he can't hear even the loudest clap of thunder, he certainly won't hear you. And there's no need to go sneaking about like a mouse, either. I'm sorry you met him in such a state, but once he wakes, he'll feel more himself." I hope, she added silently, casting a worried look at his sleeping form. "He is still half wild, and it's no good trying to change him, he must come and go as he sees fit. He will sleep here on the hearth tonight, for once he goes to sleep there's no shifting him."

The next morning Marnie awoke to the sounds of Raven banging and scraping the furniture downstairs. She hurried down, but found to her relief that the light had come back to his face, although he still seemed a bit bewildered and wary of her.

She went to embrace him, but he pulled back after a moment.

_Where did you go?_ she asked. _Why so long? I was worried all times_.

He looked down, his clear eyes hidden by dark lashes. _I walked long long way down the road, away from Killacurreen, into hills, live with rabbits like before_.

_But why?_ she asked, feeling the tears start in her eyes, and dreading the answer.

_This is not my home_, he answered, and she felt the knot of dread in her stomach twisting, growing. _Strange people live here, I don't like it. I liked our old house in Torcurra, just you and me, only you, no other people._

Marnie replied, _But we can't go back there, you know that. The house burned down, the people don't like us. Here, people are kind, I promise. The workmen are gone, they do not come back. Katriona is gone, I sent her away. This is your house, I want you to live here with me._

He looked stubborn, and still hurt. _No, not my house. Just you and me, no other people._

Just then Elly came bustling cheerfully from the kitchen and saluted both of them.

_Good morning_, she said to Raven, her signs slow but vigorous_. Sleep good? Hungry?_

Raven stared at her in surprise, then turned to Marnie. _Who?_

_You don't remember last night?_ Marnie asked, a bit of her usual teasing coming back. _She is Elly, Elly_. She demonstrated the name-sign they had devised, indicating Elly's dimple, until Raven repeated it back to her. _She is our new maid. Katriona is a bad woman. I sent her away, she no time come back here. Gone._

Raven gave her a suspicious look. _Gone?_

Marnie nodded emphatically. _Yes. You ran out the door, then right away I picked up her things and threw them out the door. She ran after, ran down road, gone. _As she explained, Marnie demonstrated what she had done, as if it were happening again in front of them. Elly suppressed a laugh at the sight of Marnie heaving the box out the door, but Raven did not alter the stubborn set of his jaw.

_Why she here? I want only you, no other people._

Marnie silently thanked god that Elly still was not quick enough with the signs to catch what he was saying. _This is a big house, bigger than the old one_, she explained. _We can't take care ourselves, need help. Elly will work for us now, always. She is good, good._ She repeated the sign slowly, to make sure Elly understood her as well.

Still smiling, Elly repeated her short speech from the night before: _You, me, friend_.

Raven stared back at her. _She knows hand-words? How?_

Marnie answered, _I taught her. Now everyone who lives with us uses hand-words. I decide, hand-words all the time, everyone talks to you. Fhiona and Donal, I teach them too. See? Good friends, we all happy together. Yes?_

He seemed reluctant to answer, but Elly asked again, _Hungry? Want breakfast? Porridge?_ Still he hesitated, and Elly, trying to be encouraging, again signed_, porridge,_ then added, _Delicious!_ in such a hugely exaggerated way, rubbing her belly and smacking her lips, that he smiled and nodded almost in spite of himself.

As Marnie followed Elly into the kitched to fetch their breakfast, she gave her hand a quick squeeze.

"I thank god for sending you here."

Elly grinned at her. "Think nothing of it! That man of yours is a rare one, but so handsome! You must be happy to have him back. Come now, why so gloomy?"

Marnie sighed. "I am afraid this settled life with me does not suit him."

Elly swung the pot out from the fire, then turned to face her with wide eyes. "You're worried he does not love you any more? Truly? You know that cannot be. I just met him and even I can see that cannot be so."

Marnie shrugged listlessly. "He said this is not his home."

Elly looked thoughtful as she ladled the steaming porridge into the bowls. "Has he ever had a home, the poor creature? Just think, as a little child, always taken and beaten and never knowing the reason. Then the same thing happens again, by a servant in his own house, no less! Little wonder he says it's not his home." She looked up to see Marnie looking stricken, with tears running down her cheeks.

"I promised him he would be safe, now I have lost his trust."

Elly quickly fetched her a cloth. "Do not blame yourself, Mistress! All will be right, only give him time. Now let us show him a cheery face, all will be well."

As Elly had said, for a time Raven did not run off again, and gradually seemed settle into the household routine, but Marnie still felt all was far from well. True, life with Elly was easier than it had been with Katriona. Marnie was relieved to see her smiling countenance every day, such a welcome change from the dour old woman. But the greatest change was in her willingness to use signs with Raven. She learned quickly, and when they ran out of words, she was quick to think of a new one. Mealtimes, which before had been a sources of tension and anxiety for Marnie, caught between two languages, now were pleasant and friendly as all three chatted easily with their hands.

Rufus still preferred the company of the chickens and goats, and their one horse, but little by little, almost imperceptibly, they began to see more of him. One night he joined them for supper, although Marnie did not remark on it, for fear of shaming him, but only quickly laid another place for him. After this he made it a habit to join them. Then, not long after, as Elly brought him his trencher, he rubbed his hand over his heart: _Thank you_. Marnie nearly fell off the bench in surprise, but Elly, unfazed, solemnly signed back to him, _You're welcome_.

As they were washing up afterwards, Marnie remarked, "When did Rufus begin to use hand-words? I was never so surprised in my life!"

Elly shrugged. "I see Raven in the barn with him all the time, them waving and wriggling their hands together, and why not?"

"Rufus was ever so standoffish, I thought he disliked all human company. But if he is beginning to take us, I am very glad of it. And I am pleased that Raven has become friends with him as well as you. Perhaps now he will feel that this is his home," Marnie replied.

But Raven still seemed distant and wary of her. He no longer followed her about all day, as he had before, sticking close to her side. She saw him at breakfast and supper, but otherwise he left her to the housework and disappeared the rest of the day. But even more distressing to her, he no longer slept in the bed with her, but on the floor beside the bed. She knew Elly and Rufus could observe this, sharing the upper floor for sleeping quarters as they all did, and it shamed her to think her husband would refuse her bed, but she did not speak of it and neither did they. She had taken Elly's words to heart: he needed time, and she would not try to hurry him.

In the meantime, it was the height of summer, and she was busy from morning to night with household chores, drying herbs and pickling vegetables, brewing the small beer, making cheese and butter, and doing all she could to prepare for winter, for even though they had money now, there would be little enough food to buy in town in the winter if they did not make provisions for themselves.

At church one Sunday in late summer, just as mass was ending, Father Seamus pulled Marnie aside to tell her a message had come from Father Brannan. A boy had come from her childhood home in Fernleigh to Torcurra with a message that her father had fallen ill. It was believed the end was near, and her family had sent for her.

As Father Seamus delivered the news in kind but secretive manner, Raven, who had trailed after, tugged with increasing insistence at her sleeve, demanding with signs and angry grunts that she interpret for him. As Father Seamus finished his hushed speech, Marnie staggered back, her face stricken and white. Raven left off his insisting and instead put his arm around her waist and led her out from the church, half carrying her.

"Take care of her, then," said Father Seamus to their backs as they left, but his words went unheeded.

On the walk home, Marnie gradually explained, with slow, halting signs, still looking stunned. By the time they returned home, it was decided that she would return to Fernleigh in the cart, and Raven would go with her. She had tried to convince him to stay home, but soon gave up, realizing it was hopeless.

By early afternoon they had left in the cart, with a few hastily assembled bundles of food and blankets thrown in the back, for the journey would take them three days at least, and there would be no inns or hostels along the way. Raven insisted on driving, and as they rattled past the rolling hills, Marnie gazed at the endless unfurling of fields, with the hay neatly racked. She could see many reapers hard at work in the distance, with the gleaners following after them, but the lands near to the road had all been cleared already, so they rolled along in solitude, unobserved. Although it was late in the season, the sun shone brightly and gloriously hot, turning the fields to gold, and the small birds sang out the last of summer. In spite of her anxiety for her father, she found it beautiful, and soothing.

Late in the afternoon, as the fields gave way to orchards, Raven suddenly plucked at her sleeve, then gestured to the low hills beside the road. Holding the reins between his knees so he could sign with his hands, he said, _That is where I stayed._

_What?_ Startled out of her reverie, at first Marnie did not catch his meaning.

_When I went away, ran far faaaar_, he gestured expansively, _I stayed here, slept in a hollow, took food from the orchard._

Marnie's mouth made a little o of surprise, but she did not reply, so he continued.

_Big feelings. Big angry. Big big sad. Before, in Torcurra, before you came and gave me words, when I was sad, angry, I went to the hills, stayed outside alone. I danced under the moon, all alone, many days, then not sad anymore. But now, I feel sad when I am away from you. I waited many days, but every day more big sad. I don't like the bad woman_ (he would not use her name-sign again) _but I don't want to be away from you_.

Marnie felt the tears start in her eyes_. I'm sorry, _she signed back at last._ I'm sorry the bad woman was in our house. It was wrong. _

He shook his head and made a sweeping, clearing gesture. _Gone now. Never mind._

_I'm sorry_, she said again. _I'm glad you came back. I was worried every day, waiting for you. I don't want to be away from you either._

He gave her a tiny smile, for what felt to her like the first time in months, his face clearing like the sun peeping out between the clouds.

_I'm sorry you don't like the new house_, she said. And then, after a pause, the question she had feared to ask all this time: _Do you want to go somewhere else? Live in a different place?_

He looked stunned, as if the idea had never occurred to him. _No!_ He shook his head emphatically. _Husband! Wife!_ He signed, gesturing at the two of them, picking up her hand and pointing forcefully at the ring on her finger. _Together!_

_But do you want to live in a different house?_ She asked again. He shook his head. _Then do you think it's your house now?_

He nodded slowly. _Everyone talks to me, uses hand-words, I like it. _

_Of course_, she replied. _You are the master of the house. They must use hand-words, show respect to you._

Raven's smile widened, and, sitting up straighter, he gave the horse a tap with the reins, making it jog forward suddenly. He crowed with delight. _Yes! I, the master! You, the mistress!_ He laughed loudly, in his peculiar, muffled voice. Marnie felt the clenched knot in her stomach relax, and she leaned back in the cart, letting the last rays of warm sun wash over her.

That night, they made their bed in the back of the cart, just off the road in an apple orchard, with the horse unhitched and tethered to a tree. And there, under the full moon, they made love for the second time.

The next day the weather was as glorious as the first, and they joked and teased as they rolled along, as they had in the past. Marnie felt as if the past few months had been nothing but a bad dream that was now over, and she could almost forget the grave purpose of their journey. But on the third day, as they passed the familiar fields at the far edge of the Isherwood estate, they both grew silent and pensive, recalling the scene that had taken place a year ago, when Marnie vowed never to return.

_Your mother, angry?_ Raven asked.

Marnie shrugged. _I don't know._

_She doesn't like me_, he said.

_What! No! You're wrong, she was angry at me, not you_, Marnie signed quickly. _She was angry because you lived in the house with me before we were married. She thinks man, woman in the same house, not married, very bad. Wrong. But now we are married, she will not be angry any more._

But Raven shook his head. _No, I'm not stupid, I see things. You think I don't understand, but I see how people look at me. She doesn't like me because I'm deaf._

_No!_ Marnie protested, but could not go on, because she had been thinking the same thing, only it broke her heart to have the words from him.

_We will not stay long_, was all she could say.

The message from Father Brannan had only said that her father was taken ill, and Marnie was anxious to arrive as soon as possible in hopes of seeing him one last time, but she discovered on their arrival that he had died even before they had left Killacurreen. And not only that, but her mother and eleven brothers and sisters had been turned out of the house directly to make room for the new overseer. She would not even have known where they went, but as they were pulling into the little lane in Fernleigh, she had seen her youngest sister, Aine, only four years old, playing in the street with some of her cousins, and had called out to them. Marnie feared for a moment that the children would not recognize her, but they all exclaimed in delight to see her again. Her joy at seeing them was short-lived, however, as Aine led them to her uncle's house, where her mother was staying, and she heard the news.

Marnie sat at the table in her uncle's house, white-faced and stricken. With many reassurances, Raven had gone around back to feed and groom the horse, as Rufus had taught him. Dedra had embraced Marnie but was clearly not pleased to see her accompanied by Raven, and even less pleased to hear they were wed. Marnie showed her mother the ring, which she had transferred now to her left hand. Her mother glanced at it, then grasped Marnie's hand and turned it over.

"Heavens child! What happened to your hand?" she demanded.

Marnie snatched her hand away and buried it defensively in her skirts. "Nothing. I grasped the kettle when it was hot and forgot to use a cloth." Dedra's mouth narrowed but if she doubted Marnie's story, she did not say anything further.

Marnie was anxious to hear more of her father, but there was little to tell, seemingly. He had seemed to be recovering, then suddenly fell into another fit, like the first. For a day he lingered in a deep sleep, and that was when her brother Barnabas had left for Torcurra to fetch her, but by the next morning he had died, and Barnabas returned with news that she had left Torcurra, so they were not expecting to see her. The moment the wake was over and Michael was buried, Dedra was compelled to vacate the house. The move across the lane could only be temporary, however. The uncle was Michael's brother, no kin of hers, and he had made it clear he would only suffer the tenancy of Dedra and the children until other accommodations could be found.

"But what will you do?" Marnie asked.

Dedra sighed and placed a weary hand to her brow. "Nathy is already working at the manor house every day. Sheilah is to marry Dugal, and they can take some of the younger ones."

"But what of you?" Marnie pressed.

"My sister Isla says I may live with her in the cottage at the edge of the forest but it is so tiny, I can't take all the children with me. They must be fostered out."

At that moment, Raven returned with the supplies they had brought with them, a large sack of flour, another of dried fish, apples from their tree, some late turnips and cabbage. She had intended to give these as gifts, and now she was doubly glad, hoping that the food would sweeten her uncle's temper at finding yet two more uninvited guests. She had wanted to give her mother money, but there was no place in Fernleigh to spend it, and even more importantly, she did not want to attract attention in the village, for word would certainly get back to Pierce Isherwood that she had found the ring. In fact she was anxious that her presence in Fernleigh not be revealed to him if she could help it.

In that she was somewhat relieved to find that not many people were about. It was the height of the harvest, and everyone was in the fields, and many, including Nathy and her uncle, would be sleeping in the fields, so as the get the hay mown in time. Sheilah and three of her younger sisters were all working up at the manor. Only Dedra and the younger ones were left in the house.

But though Marnie had hoped to conceal the matter of the ring, immediately on receiving the stores, Dedra pressed her on where and how she was living so well, with a husband (glancing derisively at Raven) who could not work. Marnie found herself blurting out about the found ring, and moving to Killacurreen. For once as she talked, Raven did not pester her to translate, but she knew he saw the disapproving look on her mother's face.

Late in the afternoon, before they lost the daylight, Marnie and Raven walked together through the deserted village to the chapel to place flowers on her father's grave. Seeing the fresh-dug earth with the little wooden cross, dying flowers strewn about, Marnie at last broke down and cried, huge, heaving sobs, while Raven held her tightly.

After a time, as her sobbing gradually subsided, he asked her, _You sad because your father dead?_

_No_, she shook her head. _He was very sick, long long time, not happy. Now, no more pain. I am sad I didn't see him again, didn't tell him about you, didn't tell him about our beautiful house._

_Why?_ Raven asked.

_Because he was sad, worried, when I married Isake. I wanted to tell him that now I am happy. If I am happy, maybe he will be happy too._ Raven did not reply, but only stroked her hair and gazed at her with sad eyes.

That night, when her aunt and some of the children returned from the manor house, there was no room in any of the beds, so they slept in the cart again, behind the house. Marnie wished her uncle were not so hard-hearted, but it was true his house was too small for so many; indeed she wondered what they did when everyone was there.

She wanted to take them all to live in Killacurreen in the new house, but Dedra would not hear of it. Fernleigh was her home, and she was not leaving. And who else would help Sheilah when the child was born? Marnie suppressed a smile, and only said she hoped she and Dugal were wed soon.

Marnie was sad that to think of the family broken up, all her brothers and sisters going to different homes, not able to grow up as she did surrounded by family.

To this, Dedra only sighed.

"It must happen sooner or later, in any case. And you, child, have chosen your own path, and your life is in Killacurreen now."

That, Marnie realized, was as close to her mother's blessing as she would ever get. Dedra still seemed unsettled by Raven, the noises he made, and their odd method of talking. Secretly, with a pang of guilt, Marnie was glad her mother was not willing to come to Killacurreen.

But it was decided that Marnie would take two of the younger children, meaning two fewer to foster in Fernleigh, and two more who could at least grow up with kin, and not in the house of a stranger. And Marnie would be glad of the extra help around the house. Aine was still too young to leave her mother, so she alone would go live in the cottage with Dedra, to be a comfort to her in her old age. Marnie took the next youngest, Peadar, who was eight, and Mairhe, who was six. Any distress they might have felt at leaving their mother and brothers and sisters seemed to be equally balanced with the excitement of going with their idolized eldest sister, and the prospect of a thrilling ride in a cart with a horse, a new experience for both of them.

Marnie took them aside and tried to explain seriously their new lives, although she was not sure how much they listened. "Now you must mind me and Raven just as you minded Mama and Papa." Even as she said it, she realized they might not even remember a time when Michael had been himself, but before she began to cry again, she went on quickly, "And you understand that Raven can't hear you, right?" They nodded solemnly. "So you must never shout at him, and always remember he can't hear you speak with your mouth. I will teach you all the hand-words and you must always speak to him with your hands." Again she was not sure how much they really understood, but they seemed eager to learn the mysterious gestures they had seen her use.

They set off early the next morning, for Marnie was still keen that Pierce not find her, and for the sake of the children she thought a brief farewell would be best. She embraced her mother, but few words passed between them, and then they waved until the cart turned out of the lane, and that was that. Marnie did not say it, but she knew this time, she would never return to Fernleigh, would never see her mother or Nathy or Sheilah or any of the rest again.

Although they were still grieving the loss of their father, the ride home was made more pleasant and cheerful by the presence of the two children. They exclaimed in delight over everything they saw, and hardly seemed to notice the hardships of the road. Right away Marnie fell to teaching them the hand-words, and they learned very quickly, faster even than Elly. By the second day they were chatting with Raven directly. Marnie took a turn driving, and Raven rode in the back of the cart with the children as they excitedly told him tales of their antics. Every few moments they would tug at Marnie's sleeve and ask her, "What is the word for kitten? What is the word for grass?" and she would show them, half turning in the seat and holding the reins between her knees. Then they would repeat it several times to themselves, and turn back to Raven to continue the story.

As they entered Killacurreen, however, the children grew quiet, their eyes wide in amazement, as Marnie and Raven had done at first, at the sight of all the people and houses all crowded so close together and bustling with activity. They also seemed awed at the sight of the new house, so much bigger, more spacious, and cleaner than the house they had left behind. Elly made much over them, and they took to her immediately. They seemed bit more shy of Rufus, but when Marnie prompted them to greet him and introduce themselves using their hands, he smiled at them kindly.

That evening at supper, there were six seated at the table, and Marnie reflected on how large her household suddenly seemed. She had loved the little cottage in Torcurra and the long nights alone with only Raven as occasional company, but the cheerful commotion of a full house pleased her even more. And best of all, everyone used signs. Elly and the children talked with their voices but used their hands as well, and Raven and even Rufus were drawn into the conversation. Only Marnie hung back, watching Raven talk with them so easily, his face alight with amusement as Peadar, with many false starts, attempted to tell a joke. When at last he got to the end, the entire table convulsed with laughter, Raven's loud gulping laugh joining with the rest of them, and Marnie felt her heart would burst with happiness.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Late in the fall, when the frost shone on the grass and the paving stones every morning, Father Seamus came to call. Elly made a great fuss over him, and would not allow him to state his business until she had seen him seated by the fire, and served him hot cider, made from the apples in their yard, which he praised extravagantly. Then Peadar and Mairhe demanded his attention, for they had been much taken with the great town church and the august priest. Then Marnie served a grand dinner, and there was even more chatter and merriment. At last Father Seamus leaned back from the table and patted his ample belly.

"I am glad to see you prosper here, Mistress," he said to Marnie.

She smiled and blushed. "Thanks to your kind offices, Father."

"The house is only as good as the people in it," he replied. "I am much impressed with this language you have devised. See how easily he converses!" He gestured towards Raven, who was telling Peadar a funny story. "And with a child, no less! Tell me, how long did it take the children to learn?"

"Why, no time at all, since I brought them here they use the hand-words every day."

Father Seamus stroked his beard and eyed her consideringly. "There is great good in this, you know," he said at length. Marnie stared down at her lap in embarrassment. "It is of this language of gestures that I wish to speak to you, to both of you," he said. Marnie rapped the table to get Raven's attention.

"You recall I have mentioned the matter of the Reeve's son to you," Father Seamus continued, then paused to allow Marnie to translate the priest's words for him as he spoke, for although he had seemed eager to learn at first, he could never seem to remember more than his name-sign and the sign for hello. Marnie and Raven both nodded. Master Owen, the Reeve, levied the taxes and customs, and oversaw all the shipping; he was the wealthiest man in town. Many people had mentioned to them that his son was deaf, but Marnie had never known what to reply to this. What was one expected to say? And how was this bit of news connected to them?

"The boy, Thoma, is ten years old," Father Seamus went on. "Last winter, not long before you arrived, he fell ill with a fever for many days, and when at last he recovered, they found he had lost his hearing. Since then, for nearly a year, the boy has kept to his room, will not go out, cannot converse or understand others. He is the only son, and Master Owen had hoped he would one day succeed his father, and indeed before this illness he had shown great promise. Now it is breaking his heart to see his son languish so. But talk of your hand-words has reached him, and given him hope again. He wants to send the boy here, as a sort of apprenticeship, that you might teach him your language."

"What?" Marnie blurted out, taken aback. "Have him live here with us? The Reeve's son?" She had forgotten to translate, but Raven, guessing at her words, cut in by banging on the table.

_Why not? Donal has three apprentices living with him._

_But Donal is teaching them his trade. It's different_, she protested.

_Different how?_ he demanded. _The boy has no words, very sad, not talk to anyone. We must teach him! _He banged on the table again, and with that it was decided that they would call on the Reeve and his son the next day.

The house stood close to the center of town, surrounded on all sides by other houses, with their walls built right up against one another. It was by far the grandest house Marnie had ever seen. Although it was much smaller than the Isherwood manor, the furnishings, with thick, ornate carpets on all the floors, and gleaming brass fittings on the doors, and each room filled with chairs and cushions and glorious tapestries, made the stark flagstones and antler-studded walls of the drafty old manor house look dull by comparison. Marnie and Raven stared all about them in amazement as a servant led them to meet the Reeve.

They found Master Owen in his counting room, surrounded by clerks and piles of documents. As he stood to greet them, Marnie noticed with quailing nerves how tall and stern he looked. He was dressed in severe garments, and his long, thin face with hooked nose, gleaming eyes and stiff gray hair gave him a hawkish look. He greeted them gravely, without smiling, but his face was not unkind.

A plainspoken man, as soon as they had introduced themselves, he was all business. He addressed himself to Marnie. "So Father Seamus tells me you have devised a system of gestures. I wish to see a demonstration." Marnie interpreted for Raven, and they shared an uncertain look. The Reeve continued, "Mistress O'Field," he said to Marnie, "I will ask you to step out into the hallway for a moment. I will show an item to your Master, and when you return he will describe it to you."

Marnie stepped into the hall, full of trepidation, but not daring to refuse this odd request. A demonstration? What could he possibly mean?

A moment later, Master Owen opened the door again and invited her back into the counting room. Nothing had changed that she could see, but Raven was looking perplexed and distressed.

_Did he show you something?_ She asked_. What was it?_

Raven's hands exploded into a frantic flurry, as Master Owen stared at them with sharp, glittering eyes. After a moment, Marnie turned to him.

"Master Reeve," she said quickly, nervously, "Begging your pardon, the thing you showed him, he doesn't know what to call it. We don't have words for everything, and I believe you showed him something we haven't made up a word for yet." The Reeve's eyes narrowed and she hastened on, "It's no easy task to make up words for everything in the world, there are some things I have not named yet, but you must believe, it is a true language, not just a conjuring trick." Raven was tugging at her sleeve with increasing urgency, so she paused for a moment to watch him. "He says it was a small thing, about this size and shape," she imitated his motions, a finger-sized cylinder. "He said it's made of gold, shaped like the pegs the builders used to make our house, and it has markings at one end, and you touched it to a parchment… oh!" she glanced around him at the table. "Was it your seal of office, Master Reeve?"

The Reeve smiled at last. "Yes indeed, Mistress. I beg your pardon for causing you distress, but it is my policy when dealing with trades and transactions of all kinds to always ask for a guarantee at the outset." He paused while Marnie translated for Raven. "It is an awkward business, but tell me, did you really invent all this yourself?" She nodded. "I suppose it is not strange that he would never have seen one of these before." He picked up the seal and showed it to them.

Raven turned it over and over in his hands, imitating the stamping motion while Marnie explained. _It's to show everyone that what he writes on the parchment is by his hand. It's the sign of his office._ Then she paused, because she had not invented a word for _Reeve_ either. She had been calling Master Owen _the big rich man_. As he handed the seal back, Raven made the stamping motion again with an empty hand. _Yes!_ She said, _Him, the Reeve, the big rich man, the Reeve._

She turned to Master Owen. "You see, now we have created a new word, this is the word for Reeve, and your name-sign." She repeated the stamping motion.

Master Owen looked pleased, so she showed him their greeting with two hands, and how they made their own name-signs.

"Very clever," he admitted. "Remarkable that you invented this yourself, Mistress! And when did he lose his hearing?"

Marnie blushed slightly at the praise. "I do not know, Master Reeve. Although we are now man and wife we have but a year's acquaintance. But I have heard from Father Brannan in Torcurra who cared for him in his infancy that he was ever thus."

Master Owen did not reply but looked on Raven with sympathy. Sensing a pause in their conferral, Raven again began to sign to her.

"Master, he is quite anxious to meet your son. He says that he is suffering without words."

Master Owen again opened the door. "By all means, let us go to his chamber." And to Marnie he added, "Again I beg your pardon for casting suspicion on you, but since my son's misfortune, I have been beset with any manner of quacks and frauds, all promising to restore his hearing, for a princely sum of course."

Marnie curtsied. "I am afraid we have no means to make him hear again, only a language he can use without hearing."

Master Owen grinned at her, for the first time he noted the reassuring glint in his eye. "For your modesty alone, Mistress, I am more inclined to trust you than all the rest."

Thoma's chamber was no less sumptuous than the rest of the house, but the windows were shuttered and the air was close. As they made to enter, Master Owen introduced them to his wife, a thin, worried-looking woman who hung about the door nervously.

"We're at our wit's end with him," she burst out, grasping Marnie's hand in her cold bony ones. "I know he can speak, for I have heard him on occasion, but he chooses not to. No matter what enticements I try, he stays in this room all day. He won't see his friends or attend to his studies, or take his meals with us. The doctor says he's not sick any longer, but still he won't come out, except to go for a ride or a walk by himself. It's been almost a year and still he lives like a hermit in his cell…" Seeing her begin to cry, Marnie extricated her hand with a few murmured reassurances.

Within, they found tiny figure sitting on a large bed heaped with blankets and furs. If Thoma had sensed his mother's emotional scene at the door, he gave no sign, but sat with his face turned to the wall. Master Owen placed a taper on the low table beside the bed, and pulled up two chairs for Marnie and Raven, then pulled his wife back outside, although she was clearly unwilling to go.

When Master Owen placed the taper on the table, making it gutter and flicker for a moment, at last Thoma turned to face them. His face was drawn and sallow, pale from lack of sunlight: an invalid's face. His straight brown hair hung limply around his face, and his large brown eyes stared unwaveringly but flatly, without interest.

Marnie and Raven sat tentatively in the proffered chairs. For a long, slow moment, they just looked at each other. Suddenly Raven began to gesture quickly, expansively, with an encouraging look on his face. Marnie put out her hand to stop him. _Not so fast_, she said, _he doesn't know anything yet. We must teach him slowly, slooowly_.

She glanced back at Thoma, who was now sitting straight up, staring at them with rapt attention.

She smiled at him encouragingly. She pointed to Raven, then cupped her hands over her ears, shuttering them. She pointed again at Thoma and made the same gesture. She repeated this several more times. _Him, deaf_, she said. Suddenly, Thoma's eyes widened, and his face, which had been slack with despair, became galvanized with interest.

He repeated the gesture, looking at both of them in amazement. _Him deaf. Me, deaf._ They both nodded to him encouragingly. _Yes yes_.

Marnie continued, this time speaking slowly as she signed. "My name is Marnie. His name is Raven." She repeated it over and over, and this time he caught on slightly faster, and repeated the signs back to them. Marnie continued, _Your name is_… she paused and turned to Raven. _What do you think of a name-sign for him?_

Raven looked him over consideringly. The boy was wearing a thick cloak, fastened at the left shoulder with an ornate silver pin. Raven circled the finger and thumb of his right hand, imitating the shape of the pin, and tapped it twice against his left shoulder.

Marnie laughed and clapped her hands. "Of course!" she cried. "Your name is Thoma," she said to him, repeating the new name-sign. Thoma looked at the pin, then pointed to himself, a question on his face.

_Yes yes,_ they repeated, _You are Thoma_. He made the sign himself, repeating it like it was a new pair of shoes he was trying on for the first time. At last he smiled, then made the sign again, and as he did so, for the first time he spoke. "My name is Thoma."

His voice was loud and rusty from disuse, but more than that, it had a strange, muffled, guttural sound, not unlike Raven's voice, although the words were much more clearly formed. Marnie wondered at it.

At the sound of his voice, Thoma's parents came bustling back into the room, his mother wailing and flinging her arms heavenward.

"Saints be praised!" she cried. "Only one moment with him and already they have him speaking! It's a miracle!" She rushed forward to pinch his face with her bony hands. Thoma, his face shuttered again, turned away from her.

Master Owen attempted to subdue his wife, but he too appeared to be filled with hopeful ebullience. "So it's decided then?" he asked. "You will take the boy to live with you as an apprentice and teach him this language?"

Marnie thought with some consternation that they had decided no such thing. "First we must ask Thoma himself," she declared, but this was no easy task with his eager parents hovering over her shoulder. _You go with us? _She asked, _live in our house?_ But although she and Raven repeated the signs over and over, again with Marnie speaking slowly, she was not at all sure he understood. She didn't like the way he kept glancing past her to the faces of his parents, with a mournful, hesitant expression. But at last, he spoke again in his strange voice, "Yes."

And that was that. Thoma went with Marnie and Raven back to the house. Two servants followed later that day with his clothing and furniture. It had been decided that Master Owen would send Thoma's bed as well, for although the upstairs room was large, Marnie and Raven occupied the only bed; the children and servants slept on pallets on the floor.

Raven fussed over him and made many reassuring signs on their way home, but Marnie was troubled. The light in the boy's eyes that had sparked when he first discovered that he was not alone had vanished just as quickly, and he seemed more resigned than hopeful at the prospect of going to live with them. There was a deep sadness in him, and it worried her.

Thoma lived with them through the coldest weeks of winter. Although Marnie and Raven signed to him constantly, he learned but slowly, much more slowly than it had taken Elly and the children to learn. Marnie soon realized that this was because if the Peadar or Mairhe wanted to know a new sign they simply asked her and she explained it. But she found it much more difficult to explain the meanings of hand-words to Thoma, cut off by silence. The names of things were easy—she simply showed him. But the other parts of language, parts she had never thought of before, were much harder. How to explain to him how to ask a question? How to talk about something he did yesterday, or wanted to do tomorrow? With Raven, they had made it up together and it had felt natural. But Thoma had a slow, methodical nature, so unlike Raven, who leapt from thought to thought. A wordhopper, she had called him in jest. But Thoma was deliberate, like one on a long journey up the side of a mountain. He wanted to know the exact meaning of each hand-word. Marnie had discovered that he was much better than Raven at seeing the words on her lips as she spoke them, and had continued to speak and sign to him at the same time, but this was not always successful. There were many times when she had repeated a word dozens of times, only to have them both give up in frustration. And yet by the next day, or the next week, somehow he would have learned the troublesome word. And so on, with each new word.

Peadar and Mairhe were impatient with Thoma, and she had to remind them often not to shout at him, and not to grab his hands and force them into the right shape. Peadar seemed to take the changes in their household in stride, but Mairhe, who had previously been so quiet and biddable, suddenly developed a powerful homesickness. During the day she was given to whining and dawdling, and would not mind what she was told. At night, she had taken to crawling into the bed with Marnie and Raven. When Marnie tried to put her back onto her pallet, she would weep and rage until she was allowed back in again. Marnie felt beset by demanding children, but did not know what to do for any of them.

Raven at least seemed to take to Thoma immediately, and the two of them spent many hours together, in the barn with Rufus, chopping firewood, or watching Donal at work and helping him with small tasks. Although it was winter and there was little to do outdoors, Thoma gradually lost his invalid's pallor. With Raven he seemed content but distant, but with Marnie he was extremely reserved, she knew not why. He seemed to understand her the best, because she always spoke slowly to him and signed at the same time, but he did not seek her out.

As his mother had said, Thoma did not like to speak with his mouth, even to ask the meanings of hand-words he did not understand. When Marnie asked him why not, he shrugged. _Feel strange_, he said, _make mouth-words but not hearing myself_.

_But your voice sounds good to me_, Marnie replied. _Easy to understand. If you want, you can speak all times_.

Thoma shook his head. _I don't want._

_Why not?_ She pressed.

_Words are not just for one person_, he answered. _One person speaks, the other person hears. I speak, can't hear your words, no good. Not words for two people._

Marnie sighed. What Thoma said was true. What good is language if only one person understands? Before she could answer, Raven cut in. _Yes, mouth-words no good! Hand-words much better. Everyone thinks so. Even Peadar and Mairhe use hand-words together, clever children!_ They all laughed, because it was true; Peadar and Mairhe did often use the hand-words to talk to each other even when Raven and Thoma were not about.

After a month had passed, one evening Marnie asked Thoma if he would like to see his parents. He had gotten so much better at signing, and she thought he might want to show them how much he had learned. She wondered if perhaps he missed them, and thought he might be excited by the thought of a visit. But to her dismay, he looked stricken at the prospect. _No no_, he said, his face wan and anxious. _Not see mother, father. They not want to come._

_Do you want them to come?_ she asked, thinking perhaps that he had mistaken her meaning. But he just repeated, _they not want, they not want, no good. _

At last she admitted defeat. "Very well," she said. "I will not send for them."

Later that evening, after Thoma and the younger children had gone to bed, Marnie asked Raven, _Why doesn't Thoma want to see his parents?_

Ravens shrugged. _Maybe they beat him._

_What?_ Marnie was outraged. _Are you sure? Did he tell you that?_

Raven shrugged again. _All deaf always beaten._

_No_, she protested, _that's not true! _

Raven looked at her pityingly, as if she was the one for once who did not understand. _Thoma did not say. But all deaf always beaten. Rufus too. He told me, on ship, he did not hear orders, they beat him._

Marnie wanted to contradict him but found she could not. For had he not been beaten by a servant in his very own house?

But she was determined to get to the bottom of the matter with Thoma. She waited several days, until she found him alone one day sitting by the fire.

"Thoma," she asked, trying to seem calm, "did your father and mother treat you kindly?"

He seemed startled by her question. He nodded, then looked away.

She shook his arm, forcing him to look back at her. "Always?" she pressed. "Always kind? Even after you became deaf? Did they ever beat you?"

_No_, he replied, never beat. _Kind. Mother, father kind._ But as he made the signs, his hands shook, and he looked away suddenly.

Was he crying? Marnie wondered. Gently, she took his chin in her hand and turned him to face her. His face was streaked with tears.

"Why are you crying?" She asked. "Don't you want to see them?"

_No_, he said. _No no no. They sent me here, mother, father, no more. Don't want to see me, son no more._ He seemed to be struggling to get his meaning across, using the same few signs over and over, but she could tell by his expression there was more he intended than those few simple signs, and she wasn't quite following his meaning.

"What do you mean, no more?" she asked. "They love you. I'm sure they want to see you."

"NO!" At last he spoke, in his low, flat voice, sounding as if the words were wrenched from deep within him. "They sent me to live with you forever. They are ashamed of me because I am deaf. They disinherited me." His short speech over, Thoma began to cry again. Marnie hugged him and laid his head on her shoulder. She could feel his slight frame wracked with huge, wrenching sobs.

Marnie was stunned. She thought back to the moment when they decided to bring Thoma to their house. In all the confusion, had no one explained to him exactly what was happening? She realized guiltily that she had assumed Master Owen had explained to his son that he was sending him out like an apprentice, but how could he have made Thoma understand? She was filled with sadness for him, cut off from his family and not knowing what was happening to him. His serious demeanor made him seem older, but he was still a child, only a few years older than Peadar.

At last he seemed to cry himself out, and she wiped his face on her apron. "Your father didn't send you away forever," she said. "He sent you here as an apprentice, to learn the hand-words from us, so he could talk to you. Please don't be sad. You are still their son. You'll see. I promise."

The next day she went to call on Master Owen. Once again she found him in the counting room. When she explained to him what Thoma had said to her, he looked troubled, but his words did not immediately reassure her.

"In truth, Mistress Marnie, I had not yet decided what to do about Thoma," he said, his sharp eyes looking away from her, at the stacks of books and scrolls that lined the walls. "As you know, I had been training him as my heir, to take over as Reeve one day, but how can he do that work if he can't hear or speak?" Marnie tried to reply heatedly, but he cut her off. "Nay, Mistress, I know you have devised a clever way of speaking among yourselves, but what good is that in the wide world, where no one else knows your meaning? I sent him to you in hopes that he might find companionship, to relieve his loneliness, and in truth, in hopes that he might find it preferable to stay with you."

"How could you!" Marnie shouted, her hands forming into fists and tears starting in her eyes in spite of herself. "Your own son! How could you abandon him like that!"

Still the Reeve would not meet her eye, but his voice was filled with sadness. "Aye, it is hard, but what else can I do?"

Marnie stared back at him, silent, considering for a moment. Finally, she replied, "Come visit our house. Come and see how we get on, and how much Thoma has improved. He has taken it very hard, being away from you, and I am sure it would do him much good to show you how much he has learned."

As he and Marnie had agreed, the Reeve arrived for his visit alone, unannounced and without ceremony. It being a winter afternoon, a watery sun shone weakly through the gray clouds, and a sharp wind blew a thin dusting of snow along the frozen ruts in the road. The family was just about to sit down to their dinner, and Elly, in great consternation at being caught unawares, set an extra place for their exalted guest.

In the kitchen, Marnie took a moment to catch her by the elbow. "Don't fuss so," she directed to the maid, who was red-faced and unusually agitated. "He's here to see how Thoma gets on," she explained. "He must see how we live every day. Don't fret, he won't take offense at our plain manners." Chastened, Elly set the trenchers out quietly and served the simple meal, for this late in the winter there was little enough to be had, even at the great houses in town.

Thoma greeted his father stiffly with a formal bow. Marnie watched with her heart in her mouth, but apart from a brief flicker of surprise, Thoma seemed to take his father's unexpected appearance in stride. Although she noted he did not speak, but sat at his accustomed place between Raven and Peadar at the far end of the table.

The meal started quietly, with everyone seeming somewhat awed by their guest, but before long Peadar had told a joke, then they all were laughing and chatting as usual. Master Owen watched their fluttering hands with great interest. At length, he leaned over to Marnie and spoke to her unobtrusively.

"He is completely transformed," he observed, indicating Thoma, who seemed to have forgotten his father's presence and was involved in lively conversation with the children. His eyes shone, and his face was lit by a happy grin; he did indeed look like a different boy from the wan invalid they had taken in.

"He has been helping with chopping wood and tending the animals. I believe the exercise has done him good," Marnie replied.

"It is more than that, evidently," Master Owen said. "It is good for him to be with his fellows. Tell me, where did you find those children?"

Marnie looked at him strangely. "They are my brother and sister, who I took in when my father died and my mother could not care for them."

Master Owen nodded. "I see. And how did they lose their hearing?"

"What!" Marnie burst out laughing in surprise. "Master Owen, you are mistaken! Only Raven and your son are deaf. The rest of us are all hearing. Except for our man Rufus, I suppose you may count him as well for he has become hard of hearing in his old age. But the children and the maid all hear as well as you or I."

"Indeed?" Master Owen was taken aback. "And yet you all use the hand signs, for I have not observed any of you to use what might be called normal speech this entire time. Have even the children and the servants learned the signs just for the sake of your good husband?"

Marnie nodded seriously. "That is the rule in this house. Raven is the master, and all who live here must learn to speak to him." She did not elaborate, but only gave the Reeve a hard look, which he returned consideringly.

After the meal, Raven and Marnie, with a somewhat diffident Thoma, gave Master Owen a tour around the house and yard, then went next door to introduce the Reeve to Donal and Fhiona. The neighbors were startled to suddenly host such an august guest, but Fhiona, with the baby on her hip, sent the apprentices running to serve him ale, which he received with good grace. Donal showed Master Owen around his shop, and Raven and Thoma pointed to the tasks he had set them and the carving they had been practicing.

Again Master Owen seemed surprised that Donal and Fhiona seemed at ease using the hand-signs, and even the apprentices seemed to have learned a few signs. When he remarked upon it, Donal only shrugged.

"Seemed only natural," was all he would say.

Returning back home, Marnie put Mairhe and Peadar to bed, then the adults and Thoma sat down to a late supper. As soon as the meal was cleared away, they snuffed the candles and moved to sit close by the fire. Raven and Thoma fell into a slow, desultory conversation, as they worked on small carvings with tools borrowed from Donal. Master Owen watched them alternate carving then setting their tools down to converse with their hands. Whenever they did so, they would lean in close to the fire so they could see each other's gestures in the dim firelight.

"Is this how you spend every evening?" Master Owen asked Marnie.

"Yes, they are making little toy horses for the children. Isn't it clever?" she replied.

"Quite, but I can see it is an impediment to conversation to put the candles out," he observed.

Marnie shifted uncomfortably. "Candles are dear, and the winter is long," she replied somewhat stiffly.

Master Owen leaned back in his chair, and turned away from Raven and Thoma. "Mistress Marnie, I'm afraid I must apologize. I have sent my son to live with you without thinking of the consequences. Tell me, what is your situation? Did you have a marriage portion?"

Reluctantly, Marnie found herself telling Master Owen the whole story of her brief marriage to Sir Isake, about the little house in Torcurra and the ring.

Master Owen seemed displeased. "So Father Seamus still has the ring?"

She nodded. "He pried out the jewels and sold two of them for us so we could buy the land and build the house, but…"

"But things are more expensive than you realized, and you did not expect to have to support such a large household," Master Owen finished for her. She nodded again, feeling vaguely ashamed, although she knew not why. Was it not her money to do with as she wished?

"Mistress, I wish to enter into a more formal business arrangement with you," Master Owen declared. "It is not right that you teach my son without compensation. For do not even the lowliest apprentices have a contract? I will not have it said that I abandoned my son to your care. From now on, I will pay you for his room and board, and ensure that you are well supplied with good beeswax candles, for I can see that they are no mere luxury here, but essential to your means of conversation." Marnie began to object, but he cut her off. "Hear me out. In return for which, you will continue to teach my son your hand-signs. Furthermore, three days in the week I will send his tutor here, along with two of my apprentices, so that Thoma may continue his studies as he had before, and that they might learn the hand-signs too, and teach it to others in my household. With your leave, Thoma may remain here as long as he wishes, but he will be welcome back to his own home when he is ready."

Marnie sat staring in amazement, her eyes shining. "Then do you intend to have him succeed you as Reeve? But you said it could not be done?"

Master Owen laughed. "Now you try to dissuade me? No, mistress, when you work with the shipping as I do, you learn never to take anything for granted. Who knows what the future will bring? We will see what Thoma can accomplish, and what kind of work he can do. But I will not see my son uneducated or a stranger in his own home. And now, one last matter, I would have you entrust the remainder of that ring to me. I can get you a much better price than that old priest, and I will ensure that you never go hungry."

Marnie clasped his hand and it was agreed. Returning to the fireside, they explained the arrangement to Thoma, with Master Owen speaking slowly and Marnie translating. Thoma looked from one to the other, distrustfully, but at last seemed to accept the arrangement.

"You may return home whenever you wish," Master Owen repeated carefully. "You are still my son. But I daresay you would prefer to remain here for now?"

Thoma nodded, and Marnie was relieved to see some of the tension and wariness at last leave his face. Then to her surprise, he spoke. "Thank you, father," he said in his flat, rusty voice. She was even more surprised to see them embrace in an excess of emotion, these two who had always been so reserved and formal.

Raven laughed. _Good, good!_ he said.

Following the visit by his father, Thoma's mood brightened considerably, as Marnie had hoped, but there were two more incidents that brought an even greater change to his previously withdrawn disposition.

The first occurred soon after his father's visit. The next day, as promised, servants from the Reeve's household arrived bearing cases of candles, provisions, and more of Thoma's clothing and articles, including, Marnie noted, several books. In preparation for his tutor's arrival later in the week, Thoma rummaged through one of the boxes and produced a wax tablet, several sheets of parchment, a quill and a small bottle of ink. These he set out on the table and proceeded to write, slowly and deliberately. Marnie watched him with great interest from the corner of her eye as she came and went in her daily chores, finding more excuses than usual to pass from the kitchen into the great room. At last, leaving Elly in charge of the kitchen, she wiped her hands carefully on her apron and sat down next to Thoma at the table. He looked up from his work in surprise.

_You can read and write?_ she asked him.

He nodded. _Of course._

Impulsively she signed, _Teach me!_

Thoma laughed. _What for? You, woman, don't need. Why learn?_

Marnie shrugged, smiling. _No reason. I want to know._ Before he could reply, she ran upstairs to the trunk that sat at the foot of her bed, and returned in a moment brandishing the papers she had long ago taken from her first husband. These she showed to Thoma, pointing to the words Father Brannan had written out for her in his strong hand, and her halting attempts to copy them.

_See?_ She said, _our names, I can write._

Thoma studied the page with great interest. _Your names?_ he asked.

_Yes, of course, you know! _she replied.

Thoma shook his head slowly. _No, I didn't know. Your name, M. He traced a big letter M on his chest. Whole name, never knew, you didn't tell me. Your name_, he sounded it out slowly, "Marnie?"

Marnie stared at him in shock. Of course he had never heard her name, only the sign-name.

Seeing Marnie's look of consternation, Thoma faltered. "Did I say it wrong?" he asked.

"No, no!" she answered. "You said it right. Marnie," she repeated several times slowly. _I'm sorry I never told you_.

A month earlier he might have stalked off in a sulk at this, but now he only shrugged and moved on to the next name on the page. "Raven?" he said. _Like the bird?_

Marnie nodded, but found herself reluctant to share the whole story with him. Instead she said, _Black hair, like black bird._

Thoma nodded with interest. Next he wanted to know the names of all the other members of the household, but Marnie didn't know how to write them.

_Teach me_, she repeated. _Teach me all the letters, and I will show you._ Thoma obliged, writing out the alphabet on one of Isake's blank pages, and lending her the wax tablet and stylus to practice.

As they were working, Raven came in from the barn and asked what they were doing. Marnie showed him, but found it hard to make him understand.

_These are words_, she said, pointing to their names. _Mouth-words, each sound for each letter_, she tried to explain, but she still was not sure that he even understood her sign for sound. She made a darting motion with her fingers near her ear, motioning for the sounds entering her ear, but no matter how often she used it, he could not seem to connect it to any concrete meaning. And for letter she had no sign at all, but only pointed to each one on the page, then traced them again with her finger. He simply stared at her with his clear grey eyes, his head cocked to the side, with an expression of indulgent amusement.

She turned to Thoma for help. He pointed to the page. _This is your name_, he said. _See? R_, he traced the R on the page, then on his chest.

Raven pointed to the word on the page, and made the R sign again. _But that is only the first, what is the rest?_ he demanded, making a squiggle motion with his finger to indicate the other letters on the page.

_That's how you write it,_ Marnie said. _All the sounds of the mouth-word._

Raven threw up his hands in exasperation. _Too much! Stupid! Hand-word short, easy! Much better! Why do you waste your time?_ Immediately losing interest, he wandered back outside.

But Marnie was determined to learn. Every day she found a few moments in the afternoon to practice. She soon sounded out the names of the children and servants, but found it hard to recall all the sounds of the letters all at once. She wrote them over and over, but she kept having to ask Thoma to sound them out for her. At first she worried that she was bothering him, taking him away from the studies his tutor set for him. But he seemed happy to have something to teach her. As they continued with her writing practice, he at last became more at ease around her.

The second incident happened much later, just as the spring thaw was finally arriving. Their second winter in Killacurreen was much happier than the first. The house was constantly alight with the bright candles sent by Master Owen, and alive all day with cheerful activity. As promised, Thoma's tutor and two of the young apprentices came several times each week. Marnie gathered that these had been Thoma's companions before his illness, and he seemed awkward and nervous around them at first. The lessons proceeded slowly, as Marnie attempted to both translate and teach the newcomers the hand-words, but as they remembered more signs, they needed her help less and less.

Marnie also found help from an unexpected quarter. Although Raven had shown no interest in learning to write, Peadar had exhibited a keen curiosity. He progressed quickly from watching Marnie at her laborious practice, to writing on his own, and soon, with Master Owen's permission, to joining Thoma and the apprentices in their lessons. Although this had the added advantage of freeing her from the task of translating, for Peadar had long mastered their signs, she felt a twinge of jealousy as she returned to the housework and was forced to leave the lessons to the boys. But there was no help for it. Spring was fast approaching, and there would be more work than ever.

The first market day of the spring was sunny and unexpectedly warm. It being a market day, naturally the tutor did not come, so Marnie decided to take the whole household into town for an outing. As she and Elly were carrying the baskets, she bade Thoma to hold Mairhe's hand and mind that she did not wander off.

They found the town square alive with activity, as neighbors from town greeted each other, farmers from far flung acres and merchants from even further away across the sea returned for the first market day. There was little enough food yet, but people were in high spirits after the gloom of winter. They wandered slowly among the booths, inspecting the curiosities brought from overseas and buying treats for the children. At the far end of the square, a band of troubadours was setting up. All at once, the drummer made a loud roll, and the piper played a short, loud blast. Marnie saw Thoma's head jerk around to look at them.

She jerked at his sleeve. _Thoma! Did you hear that?_ He nodded, staring at them abstractedly. She became quite excited. _What! You can hear the music? Are your ears getting better?_

At last he focused his attention back on her. _No_, he shook his head slowly. _Same as always. I can all times hear very loud sounds, horns, thunder, church bell. If I am standing nearby_, he added.

She looked at him wonderingly. _Why you never told me before?_

He shrugged again. _Makes no difference. I can't hear the mouth words, even shouting, not clear._

_But_, she said, _you can hear the drum and pipe, then you can dance! Come!_ She led them all over to where the troubadours stood. Already people were dancing in little clusters, kicking up their heels and laughing.

Marnie grabbed Raven's hand, then clapping steadily to show him the beat, led him in some easy steps, leaving Thoma to dance with little Mairhe. She thought back to the summer day now almost two years ago when she and Raven had danced at the harvest in Fernleigh. She was about to remind Raven as well, but then recalling how the night had ended, she thought better of it. Raven followed her gamely. Clearly he was reminded of that time as well, for he looked around at the townspeople a bit anxiously at first. But people were smiling and happy; not one took any particular notice of them. In truth, most of them knew Raven and Marnie and their peculiar hand-signs, but they had seem them so often that they had ceased to remark upon it.

Raven smiled at her. _You were right. Good town. Good people here. Better than before_. She grinned back at him, and he swung her around.

Marnie soon tired, and they hung back, joining the small crowd watching the troubadours, but Thoma and Mairhe continued dancing. She watched him swing the little girl around effortlessly as she shrieked with delight. Afterwards Marnie commented to him, _You're quite good!_

Thoma grinned at her. _Mother made me learn, said gentleman must dance, please ladies._

Marnie laughed. _I'm sure you will please the ladies when you are older._ He blushed suddenly and wandered off, still holding Mairhe's hand. While Marnie and Elly finished buying meat and dried fish, Thoma bought Mairhe a bag of sugared almonds, which sent her into transports of delight. There had never been such delicacies at Fernleigh. When at last they turned to go, although he was not very large and Mairhe was steadily gaining on him, Thoma carried her the whole way home on his back. Her head lolled to the side and soon she was fast asleep.

From that day on, Mairhe seemed at last to forget her homesickness. She ceased to whine and cling to Marnie, and stopped coming to her bed at night. Instead she now seemed to idolize Thoma, following him around and demanding his attention. Marnie did her best to keep her occupied and away from the boys during their lessons, but for the most part, Thoma did not seem to mind having her underfoot. The three children, Peadar, Mairhe and Thoma became inseperable, and Marnie was pleased to see Thoma laugh and play with them, and lose his formerly melancholy cast.


	3. Chapter 3

3

The spring passed peacefully, and as the days gradually becoming warmer, the daylight lingering longer, the household settled into a pleasant routine. Thoma continued with his lessons, with Peadar joining in, and Mairhe standing by them whenever she was allowed. Thoma was becoming much more adept with the hand signs, and so were his tutor and the two apprentices. Indeed, it seemed that they had passed some of their knowledge along to Thoma's parents and household, for Marnie remarked that he had several times gone home to visit them, without incident.

With so many people now using the hand signs, the number of signs had grown exponentially, and Marnie to her immense relief no longer found herself at a loss for words nearly as often. And now, even if there was no word yet, it did not fall to her alone to think one up, in fact she noticed with some surprise that the children were the most creative at inventing new signs. And not only words for objects; there were now ways to express complex ideas. Raven in particular had a habit of making very subtle distinctions with his hands; the same sign made close to his chest or far away, or gestured small or large all held a different meaning. Marnie would have thought this terribly confusing, but the others seemed to follow him well enough. And once Thoma picked up a sign, or a variation on a sign, that seemed to cement it as a rule, and the others all followed the rule strictly from then on.

As she watched Raven speaking fluently, enthusiastically with Thoma at the dinner table, she could see no trace of the wild boy he had been, and she was filled with happiness for him. It gladdened her heart to see him speaking so easily, and no longer struggling to express his thoughts or guess at the conversations around him. She was doubly grateful for the servants and the neighbors being willing to learn the signs as well, for Raven seemed to have formed close friendships with Rufus and Donal. For his part, Rufus had warmed considerably to the enlarged household; now that he could converse without the need for shouting. Marnie did not want to make him self-conscious, for the old sailor still seemed exceedingly shy of her, but one day she remarked, almost without meaning to, _Rufus, your signs have gotten very good._

He blushed and ducked his head in thanks, but she could see in his eyes that he was grateful for more than just the simple compliment.

Although Raven no longer flew into rages, and seemed more accustomed to human company, he still did not behave like the man of the house, for of course he had no trade or occupation. Since her arrangement with the Reeve, Marnie no longer worried about money, but she found herself wishing that Raven would contribute more to running the household. Most vexing to her was his habit of wandering off. She would set him a task, such as chopping the firewood, or grooming the horse, or hauling water for the laundry, only to find either the work left half done, or Rufus or Elly finishing it instead. Most often he would go off to watch Donal at work, and to practice carving and making small bits of furniture himself, although at other times he seemed to go further away on his own, she knew not where.

As the weather warmed Raven was about less and less during the day, sometimes only coming home in the evening, until at last, finding the washtub empty yet again, Elly remarked upon it.

"Raven is the man of the house and may do as he pleases," said Marnie with a sigh as the two of them trudged to the well and back with the heavy buckets.

"But the man of the house must help to run the house," replied Elly. "Begging your pardon, mistress," she added as an afterthought.

Marnie wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and they turned back to the well again. "Oh Elly, you must understand he is not like other men." They picked up the buckets and began the trip back again. "He's part wild still. When I married him, I promised that I would never try to tame him, that he would always be free if he wished it." She set the bucket down with a bump and a splash. "It's the part of him I love best. I could never try to change him by scolding and nagging. It wouldn't be right."

Elly looked back at her with pursed lips but did not reply.

Still, spurred on by Elly's words, Marnie felt emboldened to ask Raven at supper that night where he had been all day.

Raven exchanged a mischievous look with Rufus, then replied, _It's a secret._

_What?_ She demanded. _Tell me!_

_Yes, tell me tell me!_ the children chorused with their hands.

Raven seemed ready to extend the joke but Rufus cut in, _Begging your pardon, mistress, but the master and I are making a boat._

Marnie's mouth fell open in surprise. Raven banged on the table in annoyance. _You spoiled the surprise!_ But then he quickly recovered his high spirits in his excitement to relate the details to her. _In Torcurra, our old boat destroyed, very sad, yes? But Rufus knows how to make a new one. He is showing me how, and we are making it together. The sea is not far, with the new boat I can go fishing. No more buy stinking old fish at the market, with a new boat I can catch fresh fish. Good, yes? Delicious!_

He rubbed his fist in a circle against his cheek, the sign for delicious, and looked at her so earnestly, his eyes shining, that she could not help laughing. _Yes, good!_ she replied.

The next day he took her to see the half-finished boat, lying upside-down in the hilly grass within sight of the ocean. She marveled as he showed her all the careful woodwork, how they were shaping the beams and sealing them with pitch. This will be a good thing, she thought, real work for him to do. No one can stand to be idle, not even wild men. She watched him as he went on about his plans for building and for fishing, his hands making big arcs in his excitement, but she was not really taking in his meaning. Impulsively she threw her arms around him and planted a kiss on his mouth, right there in the open. Surprised, he staggered back for a moment, then returned the kiss eagerly. Things might have continued, but she heard Rufus' embarrassed cough and pulled away, straightening her kerchief. _Later_, she signed to him, very small, so Rufus would not see.

She was as good as her word. Indeed, since Mairhe no longer crept into their bed at night, and since Marnie had put up curtains dividing the sleeping loft to give them all some privacy, they had made love often.

As the days lengthened into summer, in spite of her good spirits, Marnie began to feel unwell. She was often queasy and dizzy, and beset by aches and pains. It did not take her long to deduce the cause; she had seen her mother and aunts bear enough children to recognize the signs in herself. All the same, she waited a few more weeks before speaking of it to anyone. At last, finding a quiet moment alone with Elly and Fhiona as they sat spinning in front of the house, she mentioned her suspicions, which they immediately confirmed.

"A blessing on you and the child!" Fhiona cried, hugging her tightly.

Elly only laughed. "I knew it!" she said triumphantly. "I saw you rushing off to the privy in the morning, looking so pale, and I thought, there'll be a little one soon!"

Fhiona laughed as well. "The only surprise is that it took you so long, eh? It's been over a year, hasn't it?"

Marnie took their teasing with good grace. It now only remained to tell Raven the good news.

And yet for reasons she could not explain, she delayed a few weeks longer yet. The boat was finished, and Raven proudly brought home his first catch of fish. He still tended to wander off and leave chores half-done, but when she saw his face shining with pride as he brought home the fish, she could not be angry with him. The weather turned hot, summer began in earnest, and life continued peacefully. There were fairs to attend, and every week or so there were musicians playing and people dancing in the village square. Whenever she could, she encouraged Thoma to go out and play with the other children, or dance in the square. He was not yet old enough to notice girls, but Marnie took note of the way Mairhe followed him around where ever he went, and the way her eyes shone when he danced with her or bought her a sweet.

At last, one hot afternoon as she and Elly were pulling weeds in the kitchen garden, Marnie noticed Raven wander back from Donal's shed. He waved to her cheerfully as he slid over the low fence. He seemed to be idle. Marnie had sent the children to market, and Rufus was in the barn. For once the house was empty, and she would have no better chance. She waved him over, and leaving Elly to the weeds, led him inside.

_I have to talk to you_, she signed, a bit uncertain how to start.

_What?_ He looked at her quizzically.

Marnie found herself without the words, for the first time in many months. She had not invented a sign for _pregnant_. Feeling unaccountably nervous, she patted her chest a bit hesitantly, then made a big arc over her still flat belly.

Raven only stared at her. Clearly he had not caught her meaning.

She started over. _You, me, soon, baby. Me, mother, you, father. Baby, soon_. She felt clumsy and awkward.

Raven continued to stare at her, and as the meaning of her signs slowly dawned on him, his eyes got bigger and bigger and the color drained from his face.

_Baby?_ He repeated. _You? Are you sure?_

She nodded, with her hands on her lower belly. _Yes, I am sure. You will be father soon. Good, yes? Are you happy?_

He did not answer, but only repeated, _me, father, my child_, his face ashy.

Marnie was growing concerned. This was not how she expected him to react. _What's wrong?_ she asked. _I'm very happy. Why are you not happy?_

_My child_, he signed. _What if my child is deaf like me?_

Marnie was thunderstruck. The thought had not even occurred to her. Could such a thing be possible? Could deafness be passed from parent to child, like hair color or eye color? And yet in an instant she felt a strong resolve come over her. She put up her chin and replied, _I don't know. But so what if it is? If the child is deaf we will teach it the hand-words and everyone here will talk with their hands, like with you, and we will love the child very much._

But Raven shook his head. _No, not good, deaf child, all alone, very sad. The people will beat him, and he will be angry, sad._

_What are you saying? Our child, me and you, we will all live in this house together, all happy and loving, not like you, not like in Torcurra. It will be good, I promise!_ Marnie was not sure she understood why he was so upset, but she was beginning to feel desperate. _It will be good_, she repeated, but he would not believe her. He only shook his head angrily.

"NO!" She was stunned to hear him speak with his voice. Before she realized what had happened, he slipped out the front door.

A short time later, Elly came in from the garden to find her sitting at the table, weeping as if her heart were broken. Flinging the basket of lettuce to the floor, she rushed off next door and returned with Fhiona. Soon both women were both plying her with cold compresses and trying to soothe her as best they could while she recounted the conversation to them in hiccupping sobs.

"He should not have done so!" said Elly, angrily, her face flushed. Fhiona tried to shush her, but she was never one to hold her tongue. "Have I not told you, mistress?" she continued, bold in her indignation. "He should not be running off when it pleases him!"

"But my promise…" Marnie said weakly. "I can't ask him to change his nature."

Elly gave her a look that said all too clearly what she thought of this. "Hang your promise! What you need is a husband, not a wild man."

At this Marnie stiffened, and seemed about to give a heated reply, but Fhiona intervened. "What exactly did he say?"

Marnie sighed and slumped over again. "He said he was worried that he child would be deaf like him. Oh, do you suppose such a thing is even possible?" Fhiona and Elly looked at each other and shrugged. Who could tell? Marnie continued, "He thinks the child will be mistreated as he was. And he was treated monstrously. It breaks my heart to think of it, him being beaten and whipped and never knowing why, turned out of doors, never knowing a loving hand. But surely he can see that it will not be the same here! Why doesn't he trust me?"

"Perhaps it is not you he mistrusts," said Fhiona thoughtfully. "Maybe he is afraid that he will not be a good father. It is often so with the first child. When my time with Anneke was coming last year, Donal was in a fair state, finding fault with everything and everyone. He would never have admitted it, but he was terrified the baby would come to harm and it would be his fault. But that's all past now that she's growing so big and strong."

"Really?" Marnie looked doubtful, but she had at least stopped crying.

Fiona continued, "Poor Raven, he's never had anyone to show him how to be a man. When he comes back, I will have Donal speak with him."

"If he comes back," said Marnie darkly.

The two women laughed, and Elly said, "Oh he will be back, mistress, I am sure of that."

Raven did come back, that very night, much to her surprise. Expecting him to be gone for days, and feeling ill and dispirited, Marnie had gone to bed early and left Elly to finish clearing away the supper. But before she had even blown out the candle, she heard the front door open, and soon after Raven came upstairs, bearing a candle.

He placed his candle on the little table beside the bed, then knelt down next to her. _I'm sorry_, he said. His grey eyes shone in the candlelight, his brows arched in anguish. He placed his hand against her cheek, then said, _Elly told me you cried when I left, cried and cried._

She nodded. _I thought you would never come back._

_No!_ He looked shocked. _I want to be with you all times! That is why we said the big words, made the promise, yes?_ He pointed to the gold ring on her finger. _I walked and walked, but my heart was sad, I wanted to see you, so I came back. If I don't see you even one night, sad sad sad. And I made you sad too. I am sorry_. He hugged her fiercely, then blew out the candles, and their conversation was ended for the evening. Marnie curled up next to him in the bed, glad that he had returned so quickly, but she was still troubled. She had not mentioned the baby, and she was afraid to talk of it with him again.

The next day, at Fhiona's bidding, Donal appeared at their front door in the early evening, asking for Raven, and the two of them set out together. Marnie put Mairhe and Peadar to bed, then helped Elly to prepare supper. She laid a place for Raven, thinking that he and Donal were perhaps taking a turn about the village square and would soon return. But they finished the meal, his portion went cold, and still he did not return. They cleared away the dishes, and Rufus stumped upstairs, yawning mightily.

Elly and Marnie stood by the fire, looking at each other somewhat uncertainly.

"Where could they be?" asked Marnie, not for the first time.

"If you want to wait up for them, I don't mind, mistress. I can wait with you," Elly offered.

"Oh no, it's so late, you must be tired," Marnie replied, but Elly cut her off.

"Nonsense, I will wait with you. Let us take out our knitting, it will make the time go by faster." They did as she suggested, but the candles had burned very low and the fire had nearly died by the time they heard the scuffling sounds of someone coming down the lane.

Marnie leapt up and flung open the door, only to see Donal and Raven staggering together, with their arms flung round each other's shoulders. Donal was waving his free arm and singing something about my lady's garter, while Raven made a horrible moaning racket.

Elly started to laugh. "Are they singing?"

Marnie was not amused. "By god, they're drunk!"

The two men staggered to an unsteady halt in front of the door. Raven continued his howling, and Donal grinned at her, his face ruddy and wet.

"Where have you been!" Marnie demanded.

"Down t'the tavern, of course!" Donal replied. "Men's, uh, men's… business." He winked at her broadly then slapped Raven on the back, causing him to stagger forward through the open door.

Raven still grinned at her. _Went with Donal, big house, many people, all merry! Drank beer, Donal said, not like the beer we drink at home, he said that is small beer, this is real beer, much better. I drank one, very bitter, I didn't like it, but then I drank more, and it tasted good! _

"I think you'll find he's all right now, mistress!" Donal said and before Marnie could reply, he shouted good night several times over as he lurched to his own front door.

Raven stood swaying a bit and grinning at Marnie as Elly turned to close the door. With big clumsy gestures, he signed _I love you_ at her over and over. _Pretty Marnie_, he said and lunged forward to embrace her.

She pushed him back angrily. He stepped back, with a strange look on his face, then promptly leaned forward and vomited onto the floor in front of her. Stepping carefully, she reached out for him before he could fall, and guided him to the table, while Elly ran to get a bucket and rags from the kitchen to clean up the floor. Once having found a horizontal surface, however, Raven stretched out on his back on the table and with a loud groan fell into a deep sleep.

"Oh lord, we'll never get him upstairs now," said Elly.

"Never mind," replied Marnie, who was still feeling queasy herself from time to time on account of the baby. "Let him stay here until morning."

The next morning she came downstairs to find Raven sitting on the edge of the table with his head in his hands. She touched his shoulder, and he gave her a pained look, his face drawn and greenish.

_Sick_, he signed weakly. _I'm going to die_.

Marnie rolled her eyes in exasperation. _You're not going to die, you only drank too much ale. Now if you're going to be sick again, go out to the privy. I don't want to clean the floor again._ She gave him a little smack on the shoulder, and he shuffled slowly outside.

Mairhe came downstairs, yawning and rubbing her eyes, but at the bottom step she recoiled and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, it stinks!"

"I know!" Marnie snapped. "Now open the shutters and go help Elly with the breakfast." She went outside to pick lavender from the garden, some to wash with and some to throw on the fire. It would smoke terribly, but maybe it would help clear the air. As she straightened up with a bunch of lavender in her hand, she saw Raven returning at last from the privy, still looking pale.

She transferred the lavender to her apron and asked him, _Feeling better?_

_My head aches_, he replied.

_It is the ale_, she assured him. _You will feel better by evening. But remember this feeling next time you go drinking._

He grimaced. _Never again!_

Marnie suddenly turned her head and looked away, then started laughing.

In annoyance, Raven shook her arm, making her look back at him. _Why are you laughing?_ He asked indignantly.

_I can hear Fhiona and Donal next door. She is very angry! She's scolding him for making you drink too much._

Raven looked puzzled. _You can hear them so far away?_

_Fhiona's voice is very loud, because she is angry,_ Marnie explained.

Raven hung his head. _Are you angry too?_

Marnie sighed. She had been very angry, but hearing Fhiona passing her husband under the harrow, for some reason she was beginning to see the humor in the situation.

_I'm sorry_, Raven said, when she did not reply.

_It's alright_, she said, making a sweeping motion with her hand.

_Donal said I must be a better husband to you. Am I a bad husband? Are you angry with me? How can I make you happy?_ He looked so forlorn, with his clothes and hair disheveled, and his grey eyes so filled with anxiety, searching her for a hint of what she wanted him to do.

"Oh Raven," she murmured. _You do make me happy. But there are so many people in our house now, I work all day, morning til night. I need your help! If you start a task, you must finish it, and not wander off. And_…she continued, _and when the baby comes it will be much more work, I will need even more help then. _He nodded seriously_. And I want you to be happy too! _she exclaimed_. A baby is a blessing from God! Our child, yours and mine, it makes me very happy! Can you not feel happy too?_

He looked away for a moment, then said, _I am afraid._

She embraced him then, just stood holding him. He had grown so much bigger over the past two years. Before they had been almost the same height, but now he was over a head taller, and broader too across the shoulders.

Finally, she pulled back and said, _Do not be afraid. Is this not a happy house?_ He nodded_. Then all will be well. Happy house, happy baby. You are a good husband to me, and you will be a good father._

_Yes?_ He did not seem wholly convinced. But he added, _Donal said he would help me make a cradle for the baby. He said that would please you. Does it please you?_

Marnie nodded vigorously, _yes, very good! _

For the next several weeks, Raven seemed as good as his word. He was more attentive about the house, and at least told her when he was leaving, rather than simply wandering off. But he still seemed troubled by the thought of the child, and it created a wall between them.

One Sunday, after church Father Seamus detained her, with news that chilled her heart.

"A young Lord Isherwood has been in town these past few days, asking about you," said Father Seamus, looking at her with concern. "Is this the same one you told me of?"

Marnie clasped at her chest. Her heart was hammering wildly. "It must be Sir Pierce, yes. Someone in Fernleigh must have told him when I went back there last fall. But this is a disaster! He will try to take the house and all the money!"

Father Seamus put his hand on her shoulder. "Do not take on so, child. You are among friends here, and we will not allow you to come to harm."

"But the ring…" she whispered.

"It is yours by law," he replied decisively. "But if you are so concerned, I will stop by your house this afternoon just to see how you are all getting on."

She thanked him profusely, and hurried off to catch up with the rest of her household. The rest of the day she tried to put it out of her mind as she went about the housework, but found she could not. Sir Pierce, here. All she had worked so hard for would be destroyed. They would be turned out again, left penniless, and then where would they go? What of the children, and the baby? Her mind raced in circles.

When the loud rapping came at the door, it was as if she had been expecting it at that very moment, but still she leapt up and gave a little yelp. The battering on the door continued, as if it would break. Filled with trepidation, she opened it, and there stood Sir Pierce on her doorstep, like her nightmares come to life. Raven and Rufus were in the barn, but Elly and the children were in the house with her. They crowded around her in great curiosity. She turned slightly and noticed Thoma and Peader standing beside her. _Get Donal, Father Seamus, quick_, she signed, her gestures low and small. _Run_.

She stared at Pierce with her chin thrust out defiantly. "What do you want?"

He laughed hollowly. "Let me in."

"No." She stepped out onto the doorstep and pulled the door shut behind her, but not before Elly and Mairhe slipped out with her.

"I suppose you think you're a clever little minx," Pierce spat at her. "You led me on a merry chase, taking the ring and burning the house behind you."

"I never burned the house. It was the village children who set the fire."

"Ah, but you did take the ring, did you not?" he asked, his tone suddenly silken, oily.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come now, don't play the fool with me." He took a threatening step forward, and she backed up against the closed door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raven and Rufus hurrying around the side of the house towards them, followed at a greater distance by Donal and Fhiona. Oh god, don't let Raven do anything rash, she prayed silently.

Pierce continued, "I heard all about your little trip to Fernleigh, riding in on my brother's horse, bragging about your newfound wealth."

"Who told you!" she burst out, in spite of herself.

Pierce gave a menacing little laugh. "It was your uncle, but don't worry, I rewarded him well. I see it is as he said, you have built yourself a grand house. But the ring belongs to me, and so does everything you bought with it. So if you don't mind, I'll be taking possession of my house now." He stepped forward again, but Marnie flung her arms out against the door.

"Never!"

Before she realized what was happening, Pierce grabbed her by the front of her dress and flung her to the ground. For a moment the wind was knocked out of her, but then she looked up to see Pierce standing over her with his arm raised, and just behind him, Raven, his face red and mottled with anger. Donal, Rufus, and two of Donal's apprentices were holding him back, trying to prevent him from charging at Sir Pierce. He gave an unearthly yell that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She had not seen him in a rage like this since they left Torcurra.

_Stop_, she signed, waving her hands in a frantic effort to catch his eye. _I'm alright! Stop!_

Pierce turned around and sneered. "So I see you are still married to the village idiot. I wonder how your neighbors like having a madman and a witch living next door."

Marnie's heart sank. She had told Fhiona about Raven, but not about how she had been tried for witchcraft. Now it was out, and who would stand by her now? Elly was at her side helping her to stand, and she too looked red-faced and angry. "How dare you strike her!" Elly shouted. "And how dare you call my mistress a witch!"

Pierce sneered, "Have you not seen the spells and incantations she weaves? And the burn on her hand, a mark from the time she was tried for witchcraft in Torcurra! Now do you doubt me?" Marnie rubbed her palm reflexively and stared down at the dirt, unable to face them. Pierce grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully. "Now vile witch, I've had enough of your antics! Give me back my ring, and give me my money!"

Just then, she heard a clattering of horses, and a deep loud voice shouting, "Stop! Let her go at once!" It was the Reeve, with five of his men, followed further behind by Thoma and Father Seamus.

Pierce looked for a moment as if he would fight with them, but then recognizing the seal of office the Reeve wore on a ribbon around his neck, he reluctantly released her hand and stepped back. For a moment all was still, then it seemed to Marnie as if everything were happening at once. The Reeve's men leapt from their horses and came between her and Pierce, and suddenly Elly and Fhiona were supporting her on either side, exclaiming over her with great concern. Although she insisted that she felt fine, they were not convinced. The last thing she saw as they hustled her into the house was Father Seamus, red-faced, running up the path to the house, followed by Thoma, and in the confusion, Donal leading Raven, still red-faced and wild-eyed, around to the back. Satisfied that the danger had been averted, Marnie allowed Elly and Fhiona to half-carry her upstairs and settle her in bed. Then nothing would do but that they send for the midwife.

Marnie could hear a great commotion downstairs, loud voices, doors banging, the horses outside stamping and whinnying impatiently. She could also hear Raven's choked voice yelling her name, followed by more inarticulate noises, and she yearned to go to him, but the women would not allow her to rise from the bed, nor would they admit anyone up the stairs until the midwife arrived.

The wizened old woman, whom everyone called Mother Bhan, arrived at last, and Elly and Fhiona withdrew while the midwife examined Marnie. She felt about her for a few moments, asked if she bled or felt poorly, and when Marnie replied truthfully that apart from a bruise on her hip, she felt fine, the old woman laughed and said, "You'll be having a fine healthy babe before you know it!" But just to be safe, she added, she wanted Marnie not to rise from her bed for the next three days, and to send for her straight away if she felt unwell.

As Mother Bhan was about to leave, Marnie begged to ask her a question. The midwife looked at her kindly, and she suddenly felt tongue-tied.

"You met my husband downstairs?" she began. The midwife nodded. "You know that he can't hear or speak very well? Tell me, Mother Bhan, do you think the child will be deaf like his father?" Marnie asked, her face drawn and worried.

Mother Bhan patted her hand gently. "Who can say? Perhaps. I have sometimes seen it so."

Marnie lay back with a sigh. It was not what she wanted to hear, but there was nothing to do but wait and see.

As soon as the midwife declared Marnie and the child were in no danger and took her leave, Raven came clattering up the stairs, flung aside the curtains, and threw himself onto the bed beside her, crying great racking sobs and clutching her tightly. "Marn!" he groaned, "Maaaaaaarn!"

On top of everything that had just happened, Marnie felt overwhelmed by this great display of emotion, and she found herself laughing and crying at the same time. She wiped the tears from his cheeks and gently smoothed his curly hair away from his face, until he seemed calmer. At last he pulled away from her a bit so they could speak. Raven made the sign for _sorry_ over and over, his hands pressed together, begging her forgiveness. She took his hands and kissed them, then said, _It's alright. Everything is fine. The midwife said I am not hurt._

Raven still seemed agitated. _My fault_, he said. _The man hurt you, I was not there, not with you. I am a bad husband, like Donal said. I think about the baby, and I have big big feelings, I want to go away, but that was wrong, I'm sorry. I should have been near you. Now I will always be near you. I'll never leave you!_

Marnie smiled, feeling as if a dam inside her had burst at last. _I know you'll never leave_, she replied. _But you don't have to stay by my side all times. It's alright to visit Donal, to go fishing in the boat. If you work you will be happy, I know_. He looked uncertain, so she continued. _I don't need you right here_, she made a vigorous clutching motion, as if he were glued to her side, _but just your thoughts here_, she touched his brow, then her heart.

_Yes yes_, he nodded, and kissed her warmly. But Marnie pushed him away again. There was still one more matter she had to settle with him. _I spoke to the midwife_, she said_. I asked her if the child will be deaf, and she said maybe. Sometimes it is so._

Raven sighed loudly. _Yes, I think so too._

_I need you to not be scared_, she said. _I know you have big feelings, scared of the baby coming, but please don't be scared, don't run away. Trust me, all will be well._

He nodded seriously, and at last she felt that the wall between them had come down. They lay curled together in the bed for a long time, until the evening sun shone warmly through the open shutters of the tiny window.

The next morning, although Marnie longed to get up, Elly would not hear of it, and insisted on bringing her breakfast upstairs. After many reassurances, she persuaded Raven that he did not need to stay in bed with her, and she convinced him to take the children fishing with him. Even then, he only left when Fhiona arrived to join Elly in fussing over her. Marnie was a bit surprised and uneasy to see the two of them carry on as if nothing had changed between them.

It was only after they pestered her about how she was feeling and threatened to call the midwife again because she looked so peaked, that she finally burst out, "Are you not afraid to come into my house?"

Fhiona burst out laughing. "Whatever for?"

"You heard what Sir Pierce said," Marnie replied miserably, rubbing her palm with her thumb. "I was tried for witchcraft in Torcurra. Are you not afraid to converse with an accused witch?"

Elly snorted in derision. "What nonsense. It's clear you're a good Christian woman. I'll listen to nothing that horrid man says."

Fhiona took her scarred hand tenderly. "I had thought it might have been so. But you are so good and kind, why ever did they accuse you?"

Marnie did not want to speak of it. It was easier just to forget. But at last she said, "Sir Pierce wanted my inheritance from his brother, so he stirred up the village against me, and convinced them that the signs I made up with Raven were evil spells."

Both Elly and Fiona exclaimed in horror. "So you don't believe him?" Marnie asked, for the first time daring to look straight at them.

"Believe him! It's just words, who could ever think…" Elly fumed. "Oh the wicked man!"

"Oh you poor child, you have been used very ill, but you must believe it was not because of any evil in you, but because you lacked friends to take your part. But you are among friends now, and we will never let any harm come to you," Fhiona said, then embraced her fiercely. Marnie felt herself about to cry again, for what Fhiona had said was true, but she had only just now realized it.

Later that day, Master Owen came to call to see how she got on. She was embarrassed to receive him in her bed, but he would not hear of her rising. He came up to the little sleeping loft followed soon after by Thoma, and Marnie was glad to see him use the hand-signs as they greeted each other. After both father and son were assured that no harm had befallen her, Thoma was dismissed downstairs that they might speak in private.

As soon as the boy had gone, Marnie asked, "What has become of Sir Pierce? Is his claim on this house valid?"

"Do not trouble yourself on that score," Master Owen replied. "I did not speak to him of the ring. As far as he knows, the house and all the money you have are my gift to you for educating my son. That being the case, he has no claim on you at all."

Marnie's eyes widened. "So you lied to him?"

"No, I merely selected the part of the story most beneficial to you, which is not at all the same thing." She seemed about to protest, but he cut her off with a severe look. "I believe the ring is lawfully yours as your inheritance from your late husband. But Sir Pierce is a vengeful man, and it is best to keep this matter quiet. When a commoner goes against a lord in a court of law, you may find the law very often will not serve your interests. Do not worry. I have taken care of Sir Pierce. He will trouble you no more."

Again Marnie looked incredulous. "You had him arrested?"

The Reeve gave a short bark of laughter. "No, I made him a partner in trade."

"What!" Marnie shot bolt upright in the bed. "That evil man! You rewarded him with money? And now he is to be in Killacurreen forever?"

Master Owen continued to look at her severely. "Mistress, you are a clever woman but you are too quick to anger, and you know little of the world. Harassing Sir Pierce by imprisoning him would only stir his ire and make him more vengeful. He is a lord, if a minor one, and his title makes him powerful. He must be placated, not punished. He is a younger son, what is it he wants if not money? I know that he has used you very badly, but it was all to assure himself of ready cash. Now by offering him a ship and a choice trading route, he is assured of a great fortune, if he can make a success of it. And never fear, he will not be earning his fortune unless he is at sea, so we will see little of him here in Killacurreen." The Reeve grinned hawkishly. "Shipping is a dangerous business. Every year, many ships sink, if his is one that goes down, who can say?"

Marnie stared at the Reeve in amazement. He was more cold and calculating that she had imagined. And yet it was all to protect her.

"Thank you," she said finally. "I am grateful to have you as a friend, for I well remember how it was in Torcurra when I had none."

Master Owen bowed to her, very stiffly and formally. "It is I who am grateful to you, Mistress, for the kindness you have shown to Thoma." The Reeve, usually so self-assured, suddenly seemed momentarily overcome. He turned toward the window to hide his embarrassment, but Marnie could see his eyes gleaming with tears. In a strained voice, he said, "You gave me my son back. You have my word, no harm shall ever come to you or any in your household."

It was as the Reeve had said. They never saw Sir Pierce again, and the townspeople seemed to have taken no notice of his wild accusations. As for her own household, Marnie felt truly at ease for the first time, as if she was relieved of a burden she had scarcely been aware she had been carrying. As the summer slowly gave way to another golden autumn, and her belly continued to grow, her days were busy but happy. There was dancing and merrymaking in the town square, and feast days and harvest home. On warm Sundays, the two households would place their tables in the garden end to end and enjoy dinner together. As she watched them all signing and speaking in equal measure, it was hard to remember that these were the words she had invented with such difficulty.

Raven was as good as his word. Although he still often wandered off when he found his chores becoming tedious, he no longer seemed to fear the child's coming, or avoided her. The first time she took his hand and placed in on her belly to feel the baby kicking, she was relieved to see his clear grey eyes shining in wonder and anticipation.

Late in the fall, with a look of great pride, he presented her with the finished cradle that he had made under Donal's direction. It was neat and snug, with chased designs all around, and on the headboard he had carved a bird in flight. Marnie was deeply impressed.

Soon enough the cold winter came on again, and as they passed the New Year, Marnie had grown so large it became difficult to move. Even going up the stairs at night made her short of breath, and she knew her time would soon be upon her.

The moment came late one freezing cold night, just as they were going to bed. No sooner had she snuffed the candle and laid down to sleep, then she felt a squeezing, wrenching pain that made her sit up with a gasp. She shook Raven frantically, but it was hard to sign with only the dim moonlight filtering in through the shutters. She pointed to her belly. _NOW_, she gestured broadly, hoping he could see her.

Evidently he could, for he leapt from the bed and jumped into his clothes, signing frantically. _Midwife_, she caught in the dimness. _I go_.

_No_, she said, _Let Elly go. You stay here_. But he already had his back to her, and was charging through the sleeping loft and clattering down the stairs and out the door. Luckily, Elly, awakened by the commotion, immediately guessed what was afoot.

"Is it your time then, Mistress?" she called, and when Marnie, in the throes of another spasm, gasped out yes, she rushed to rekindle the fire. Elly then ran back upstairs and lit the candles, as many as she could find. With some difficulty, she roused Rufus and sent him off to fetch water from the well. While he was thus occupied, she awakened the children, with even more difficulty, and led them reluctant and yawning, clutching their pallets, to spend the rest of the night next door.

While she was gone, for a few moments Marnie found herself alone, and for the first time she felt afraid. Had Raven really gone to fetch the midwife? Did he even know where she lived? And how would he convey his message to her? She was sure Mother Bhan did not know the hand-signs. But a moment later, Elly returned with Fhiona in tow, herself six months gone with her second child, and full of reassurances and helpful advice. Elly had also brought up the birthing chair that Donal had made for her. Marnie stared at it with increasing dread, but Fhiona pulled her away and led her to walk slowly in a circle around the loft, to and fro, to and fro while they awaited the midwife.

Raven, meanwhile, had set off down the road at a run, never pausing until he reached the center of town. Contrary to Marnie's belief, he did know where Mother Bhan lived; he had seen her going in and out of a little house in one of the alleys off the church green many times when he had come to market. It all looked so different at night, though. He paused for a minute, his head spinning and his heart pounding. Which one…? At last he caught sight of the greengrocers' stalls, shuttered for the night. He was sure it was just beyond that. When he reached her door, he pounded and shouted until at last Mother Bhan answered, in her cap and night gown. She gestured for him to come in, and lit a second candle.

"Marn!" Raven shouted. "Ah, aaahh!" He twisted his mouth but only choked sounds would emerge. Gesturing frantically, he pointed to his belly, then traced a huge arc over it. _Now_, he said, _Come with me now!_

Mother Bhan chuckled to herself, for it was all too clear what he meant, and after all there was only one reason people came to call on her in the middle of the night. She nodded slowly, but Raven was in a panic and feared she had not understood him. He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her out the door, but with surprising strength she extricated herself.

"Would you have me go out in my nightclothes?" she asked. "Let me prepare myself, if you please." She pointed to her clothes, and he waited, dancing with impatience as she slowly put on her shoes and cloaks.

_Now!_ He said, _Let us go now!_ Yet still she ignored him, and turned away. He gave a shriek of impatience. Mother Bhan turned to him sharply and put her finger to her lips.

"Hush!" she said. "You'll wake the neighbors. Now let me get my things." She pointed to a basket and mimed putting it on her arm. He was forced to wait even longer while she selected bottles and tiny leather bags from a crowded shelf. But at last they were off, Raven running ahead then circling back to wait for Mother Bhan's more measured pace, so that by the time they arrived he had covered the entire distance twice.

Once they arrived back at the house and made their way upstairs, however, nothing would do but that he stay by Marnie's side. Elly and Fhiona were horrified.

"If he sees you in this state, he won't think you are beautiful anymore," Elly whispered to her in shocked tones. But Marnie was past caring what happened around her, and Raven made it clear that he was not to be shifted, so in the end, scandalous as it was, he was allowed to stay by her side and hold her hands then entire time. Mother Bhan remarked that it was oddly touching to see him care for her so faithfully.

"You don't need to worry about that one not loving her," she said to Elly with a wink.

Although Marnie was healthy and strong, the labor went but slowly, and the sun was already high in the sky by the time she was at last delivered of a girl. Exhausted, Marnie lay limply in the bed, both she and the baby dozing on and off as the others tidied the room, then later as Donal and the children came hesitantly to see her. Through all the commotion, Raven remained by her side, making sure she was comfortable and proudly showing off the baby to the visitors. When there was no one else about, they sat together quietly gazing at their daughter. She had her mother's curly dark hair in a few tufts at the crown of her head, and her father's clear grey eyes.

_She looks like you_, Raven said. _Is she hearing or deaf?_

Marnie laughed. _It's too soon to tell._

_When will you know?_ he persisted.

Marnie paused to consider. _Maybe when she is old enough to learn to speak the mouth-words, if she comes when we call her, then we will know._

_And when is that?_

_A year, maybe two._

_Two years?!_ Raven was stunned. _It takes that long? _

Marnie laughed again. _Even longer, maybe three or four years before a child can speak properly. We must wait and let nature take its course._

He was clearly not satisfied with her answer. He had been expecting to know as soon as the child was born, but he at last realized as Marnie said, there was nothing to see, no way to know until she would be old enough to react to sounds.

In spite of their lingering anxiety, the baby proved healthy and vigorous, and grew quickly. They took her to the church for the christening, and Marnie and Raven held her together over the font as Father Seamus recited the blessings. When it came time to say the baby's name, the priest paused for a moment and looked at Marnie, and she quickly answered, "Roisin. The baby's name is Roisin." It had been her grandmother's name. Father Seamus sprinkled the water, said the name, and it was done. Roisin screwed up her face and howled, and the priest laughed, congratulating them on the fine healthy child.

Later that day, when they had returned home, as Marnie was sitting in the rocking chair by the fire, nursing the baby, Raven came and kneeled by her side, gazing happily at the baby and stroking her head.

At last he asked, _What was that all about earlier?_

Marnie paused. It was rare now that she found herself without a hand-word, but christening had never come up before, and she realized that because she had been holding the baby in the church, she had not translated for him at all.

_We went to the church to give the baby a name before God_, she said, after some thought.

_A name?_ Raven looked surprised. They had just been calling her "baby_._"_ What is her name? Did Father Seamus decide her name?_

Marnie stared back at him, guilt-stricken, feeling all the blood slowly drain from her face. She hadn't asked him about the baby's name. It had just come to her so quickly. How could she have forgotten to consult with him, to translate and make sure he understood what was happening? He had come so far from the starving, mad boy he had been, he now seemed almost like anyone else, it was easy to forget how little he really knew of everyday life. She berated herself for not explaining it all first.

_I'm sorry_, she said. _I chose the name, not Father Seamus. The parents choose the name of the baby, and the priest tells the name to God. I said the name, but I should have asked you first. I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

Raven seemed less upset than she expected. _What is her name?_

"Roisin," she said. She said it over and over, slowly, trying to make the sounds clear on her lips.

But he could not form the name. "Hoshn," was as close as he could get. Now she felt doubly guilty, for selfishly choosing a name he could not pronounce. Feeling increasingly frustrated, he finally made a sweeping motion with his hands. _Enough. What is her hand-word name?_

Marnie brightened a bit. _I did not choose one yet. I chose her mouth-word name, you choose her hand-word name. Yes?_

Raven nodded seriously. He seemed to already have one in mind. He made the hand-shape for happy, his thumb and forefinger curved like a smile, and circled it over his breast. _Joy-of-my-heart._

Marnie repeated it. _It is a good sign_, she said.

In spite of her prediction that it would take years to know if the baby Roisin could hear or not, within six months, Marnie was sure that she could. Roisin was a poor sleeper, easily awakened and quick to cry. Marnie devised any number of tests, clapping her hands or calling the baby's name, and every time she seemed to respond, but still Marnie kept her suspicions to herself, for fear she might be mistaken.

Then, when she was not yet a year old, Roisin astounded them all by suddenly using the hand-signs. It happened at dinner. Roisin was sitting in Raven's lap, and he was feeding her bits of bread softened in milk.

_More?_ he asked.

_More!_ she answered.

Excitedly, Raven waved at Marnie to get her attention. _Look!_ he said, then asked Roisin again if she wanted more, and she made the sign again. He gave her some more, then asked her again, and again she said more.

_Maybe she's just repeating you,_ Marnie suggested. _How do you know she understands?_

But as they continued, at last Raven asked her if she wanted more, and she shook her head no. From that day on, they saw her use more and more signs, although some of them were hard for her baby hands to form, and they were not always sure what she meant by them. Still, Marnie found it very convenient. She had cared for all her younger siblings as babies, and some of her cousins as well, and she had never known a baby who could talk so young.

Raven, on the other hand, was troubled by this new development. _Does this mean she is deaf?_ he asked Marnie, as Roisin used more and more signs with them.

_No_, Marnie shook her head thoughtfully._ I think she has learned them from watching us, and imitating. It is still too early, but I think she will be making the mouth-words soon_. And as she predicted, in due course Roisin began talking like any other child. When this happened, Marnie breathed a sigh of relief, and felt that at last in good conscience she could tell Raven that Roisin was hearing.

_She will grow up using hand-words and mouth-words both_, said Marnie. _Isn't she clever? _Raven smiled happily, and bounced Roisin on his knee, making her shriek with laughter.

Indeed, Roisin proved to be a clever girl. From the time she was small, she seemed to understand without being told to speak with her hands to her father and to Thoma, and to speak with her mouth to everyone else. And she knew that if she wanted her father's attention, that it would do no good to yell, but she must tug at his clothes or pat him with a chubby hand. Even as she grew, she never questioned why these things were so; it was simply the normal course of affairs in her family.

It was about the time when Roisin was two years old that Master Owen invited Marnie and Raven to a formal dinner at his house. Marnie had a suspicion what this was about, but she thought it wiser to keep her thoughts to herself and let the Reeve disclose his business in his own time.

Thoma, of course, would be present at this dinner, along with his tutor Master Hugh and the two apprentices, so for this reason, Peadar, who had so long been studying along with them, was allowed to join them as well. But Mairhe, on finding that she was to stay home with the servants and the baby, flew into a passion.

"It's not fair!" she shouted at Marnie, stamping her feet.

"You're too young. In the great houses, children don't dine with their parents until they are grown," Marnie replied shortly. She had less patience for her younger sister's antics now that she had a baby to take care of. Mairhe shouted that she was old enough, then ran off to the barn to cry on her own, and refused to come in even for supper. At last Thoma went to speak to her, and it seemed he promised that she could come too, for the next thing Marnie knew they were all setting off together to the Reeve's house. Mairhe had decked herself out in proudly in a ribbon that Thoma had bought for her at the market. Raven had found a round leather cap someplace, and he now wore it jauntily, his long black curls carefully pulled back. Even Marnie, who seldom troubled about her appearance, had made certain her clothes were not stained, and starched her kerchief and apron so they stood out straight.

The dinner itself was more lavish than any she had ever had, although it seemed not far from the ordinary for the Reeve's family. There were meat pies, and roasted fowl, stews with exotic, rare spices brought in from abroad, and apples and plums boiled in heavy, sugary syrup, all served on gleaming silver plate, not like the trenchers they used at home. The dining room was far from the heat and smell of the kitchen, and they sat on high-backed chairs rather than a low bench, and on the floor were carpets with intricate designs, so beautiful it seemed wrong to step on them.

Marnie was afraid her family's manners would seem coarse and unseemly in this fine company. Raven was always noisy, not realizing the sounds he made, and especially when eating, he had a tendency to belch and groan and smack his lips. She had tried to break him of this habit, but he only stared at her blankly. She knew once he decided something was stupid or pointless, there was no changing his mind, so she had given up. In addition, they had all fallen into the habit of stamping their feet on the floor or banging on the table to get each other's attention. But on that point at least, Marnie soon felt at ease, for the Reeve's household seemed to have acquired from Thoma the same habit of table-pounding.

She was greatly relieved also to see everyone in the house using signs with Thoma, even the servants, and even, she noted, his mother, who had been so high-strung when they first met. But now she seemed at her ease. Master Owen sat at the head of the table, with Marnie on his left and Raven on his right, and his wife at the opposite end, and all the rest in between. As the meal was winding down, Thoma launched into a long story his father had just told him about a storm that nearly sank one of the merchant ships. Although Marnie was sure at least some of those present knew the story already, all the company sat mesmerized as he sketched out the tale with his hands. Thoma was a natural storyteller, and frequently entertained Peadar and Mairhe with fairy tales he had heard as a child, such as the King of the Cats, or Hind Horn. Although he had been very slow to learn the hand-words, he had at last developed a natural rhythm to his signing, and a trick of altering a sign just slightly when he wanted to be more descriptive, as if he were painting pictures that Marnie felt she could actually see.

Seeing the rest of the table caught up in Thoma's story, the Master Owen leaned over towards Marnie to speak to her privately.

"I wish to have a word with you, mistress," he began.

She nodded seriously, setting aside the silver goblet, filled with real Burgundy wine. "You think it is time that Thoma returned home," she said, for she had anticipated this moment for many months now.

"Yes," he replied, "But that is not all." He nodded towards Peadar, who was sitting at Thoma's right hand and watching him with rapt attention. "Your brother is now ten years old, is he not? Is it not time you sent him out as an apprentice to learn a trade? He can't stay at home with you forever. Have you given any thought to his future?"

Marnie was a bit taken aback, for indeed she had not thought of this. "I, ah, I suppose Donal might take him as an apprentice," she said, somewhat lamely.

The Reeve nodded seriously. "If that is what you prefer, I will not argue with you. But I know he has been studying with Thoma, and Master Hugh tells me that he is an apt pupil. Would you be willing to apprentice him to my household?"

"Why, yes! We would be very grateful to you, Master Reeve. But what of Thoma? You do intend to bring him home, do you not? What of his career?"

Master Owen favored her with one of his rare smiles. "It is very kind of you to care so deeply for my son. I have not forgotten my promise to you two years ago. I am astounded at Thoma's progress. I never would have thought such a thing possible. But now that I see how easily he converses with everyone in the household, I am convinced that he may succeed me as Reeve. However, when men of the world come calling, he will need someone to translate for him, someone he trusts utterly, who will be always loyal to him. I think Peadar may be that one. If you agree, I will train him for this task, and in return I will pay you a generous allowance." He cut her off as she began to protest. "Now mistress, none of that. It is my greatest wish to see your household live in comfort. Do you agree to this arrangement?" She did, most heartily.

The Reeve clapped his hands, well pleased with their discussion. When Thoma had finished his story, Master Owen announced the new arrangement to the company, to general approval, all except Mairhe, who looked white-faced and stricken. There was much merriment on the part of all the boys, back slapping and congratulations for both Thoma, and Peadar, who had now risen considerably in the world.

But poor Mairhe took it very hard, to lose both Thoma and her favorite brother at a stroke, and this time, unlike before, no amount of weeping and stamping would allow her to go along with them. Marnie needed her at home to help take care of the baby, and the Reeve's household would have no place for her. She even volunteered to go as a scullery maid, but that was deemed unacceptable, in light of Peadar's newly elevated status. The evening after Thoma and Peadar had at last departed, along with several servants to carry all their belongings, Marnie took Mairhe onto her lap in the rocking chair by the fire, for the first time since Roisin had been born. Mairhe lay her head back, her light brown hair covered by a little cotton cap, resting on Marnie's shoulder, cradled against her face, and cried quietly while Marnie rocked and tried to comfort her. While she was frequently annoyed with her sister's willful ways, in truth she felt sorry for her, taken away from her mother so young, sent to live with a sister she barely knew, and now losing the brother who was her one link to her past.

"You may go and see them every Sunday," Marnie promised. "And I will tell the Reeve that the boys may come here to visit whenever they please. I'm sure you will see them so often you will feel as if they still lived here." Mairhe nodded dolefully and at last dried her tears and went to bed.

And so the household changed considerably, with Thoma and Peadar gone, and the tutor and apprentices no longer coming by for lessons. And yet things were not quieter, for Roisin had entered the willful stage, and had to be watched at all times. Fhiona and her two girls, Anneke and Una, were also frequent visitors, and the three children would set up a racket that Marnie could scarcely believe.

It was not long after this time that Rufus passed away. They found him in the barn one evening, sitting on the milking stool beside the goats' pen, as if he had set down for a rest and never arisen again. They were all very sad, but he had been quite old, and had clearly been declining for the past year.

"You did him a great service," said Elly to Marnie as they were laying him in the churchyard, with Father Seamus reciting the mass. "He was a hardened, bitter old thing, but you made his last few years easier since he learned the hand-words." Marnie nodded, unable to reply. It was true that the old man had never mingled much with the family, preferring the company of the animals to that of humans, but he had enjoyed a friendship of sorts with Raven. Now as they laid the casket in the ground, Raven wept openly, and he would continue to mourn for many days hence.

Over the course of the next year, Rufus' death occasioned yet another shift in the makeup of the household. Marnie had been aware for some time that Elly had a sweetheart, a young man named Adan. Adan was a hulking red-haired fellow, rather slow-witted but good-natured. Elly had lost her temper with him so often that Marnie was certain they would part, but then he would appear by the kitchen door, bringing flowers again. Elly would sigh in exasperation, but she had known him since they were both very small, and he had seemed to wear away at her with sheer persistence. As her employer, it fell to Marnie to decide whether or not they might wed, but she was selfishly reluctant to let Elly go. Where would she find another maid who was so quick and eager with the signs, so brisk about her work, and who was such a steadfast friend to her?

After Rufus died, Elly asked, somewhat bashfully, if they might hire Adan to take his place. "He's a great layabout, and never learned an honest trade, but if it's just a matter of keeping the barn and being a manservant, I suppose even he could manage that," she said, with a mixture of spite and tenderness that Marnie found highly amusing.

"But I can't have you two sweethearts living in the same house and unmarried," Marnie said, thinking of how she and Raven had been persecuted. "Besides, it wouldn't be fair to you." After Thoma had moved out, the Reeve had allowed her to keep his bed, and now Elly shared it with Roisin. If Elly married, where would she and Adan live? The discussion went around and around.

At last, Marnie consulted with Raven, and he suggested building another room onto the back of their house, for Elly and Adan, and allowing them to marry. Marnie was still unsure, for she knew Elly did not envision a lifetime of servitude for herself.

"Once you are married, won't you want your own household?" she asked with concern.

Elly made a rude noise. "Even if we wanted it, Adan hasn't two pennies to rub together. But look, it need not be forever. I will stay at least until Mairhe and Roisin are old enough to take over my chores, and by then perhaps we will have saved enough to have our own home."

And so Elly and Adan were wed, and moved into a new room built for them onto the side of the house, beside the kitchen, with the entrance under the stairs. As he had with Marnie and Raven, Donal made them a gift of a new bed, and Marnie arranged a wedding feast for them in the garden. A great crowd turned up, for Elly and Fhiona were, after all, cousins, and many in their family took it as an excuse to visit with Fhiona as well, to see how she got on. It pleased Marnie greatly to see her house so bustling with friends and guests, for in her childhood it had always been so. She was deeply touched to see the lengths they went to in trying to use the hand-signs with Raven. If she ever felt sad at being parted from her own large family, she felt that Elly and Fhiona's family had taken her in.


	4. Chapter 4

4

When Roisin was four years old, Marnie had a second child, this time a boy. She had endured much good-natured teasing from Fhiona, who had already had a third girl by this time, named Ifa. Marnie was anxious not to repeat the same mistake with the christening as last time. Joy-of-my-heart was a very good name, but she noticed that Raven never said Roisin's spoken name, and she felt very badly about it. After the new baby came, when several weeks had passed and she was certain that he was healthy and thriving, but well ahead of the christening, she consulted with Raven. It was early in the fall, and they were sitting together in the garden late in the afternoon, Marnie with the baby at her breast, and Raven watching them happily. She was very relieved to find that none of his previous anxieties had surfaced with her second pregnancy, and he seemed overjoyed to have a son, one who already seemed to resemble him strongly.

_What shall we name him?_ she asked. _I want you to choose his name, the whole name, not just the sign name._

Raven looked thoughtful. _Why can't it be the same?_

_I suppose it could be the same, but most of the time it's different. Our daughter, her sign name is Joy-of-my-heart, but her spoken name means little rose._

_It does?_ Raven asked, and again Marnie felt a sharp twinge of guilt for not explaining things more clearly to him. _How do you choose a spoken name? _

Marnie shrugged. _Whatever the parents like. Sometimes the same name as the mother or father. Little Rose was my grandmother's name. But sign names, we choose anything, appearance, or writing. Thoma's name_, she made a circle with her fingers and tapped it on her shoulder, _because he was wearing a pin when we met him. My name, _she made an M on her chest_, the first letter writing my name. Yours also, the first letter._

_And my spoken name?_ Raven asked. He could recognize his name on her lips when she spoke it, but could not say it well himself, it came out as Hrafn. _What does it mean?_

_It means raven, the big black bird_, she replied, marveling a bit that he did not know this. Surely she had told him years ago…? But she supposed it had never come up. As the sign language had grown and they all used it so easily now, she had little occasion to discuss the mouth-words with him. _I chose it because your hair is black, like a raven's,_ she explained.

At this, his eyes grew wide in amazement. _You?_ He pointed at her in disbelief. _You gave me that name? I didn't have a name before that?_

Immediately Marnie wished she could take her words back. She didn't want to bring up painful memories, and she especially didn't want to tell him the cruel nickname the villagers had given him. What would be the purpose in that?

_No words, no name_, was all she would say.

_No parents, no name_, Raven added. He regarded the baby, who had now eaten his fill and slipped into a contented sleep. _If my name means raven_, he said, _why not name the baby Robin? That is also a good bird, and now he looks like a little bird. Robin. What do you think, is it good? Can it be the same, spoken name and sign name?_

_Yes, very good!_ said Marnie. _The spoken name is also good_. "Robin," she said, over and over, until he got it right, or at least close. At the christening, Raven held the baby, and when it came to the time in the mass, he was also the one who said the name to the priest. Marnie felt that she had at last made a very old wrong right, or right enough.

Robin was a happy, good natured baby, much easier than Roisin, who had been prone to crying and fits of temper.

_Roisin was bad-tempered like you, but Robin is sweet and good, like me_, Raven liked to tease Marnie. And it was true that Roisin resembled her, except for having Raven's grey eyes, while Robin, even while he was small, was the very image of his father. But Roisin had grown out of her babyish willfulness, and had taken to being an older sister very well, mothering Robin and directing his play. Marnie was relieved at this, for she had seen Fhiona's three girls squabble frequently. Selfishly, she was glad her household was more peaceful.

This peaceful life continued until one day when Robin was two, and Roisin was six. It was shortly after breakfast. Adan was in the barn, and Raven had wandered off after him. Elly and Mairhe were in the kitchen, cleaning up after the breakfast. Marnie was wiping down the long narrow table with a cloth, taking her time and watching the two children playing in front of the hearth with the little wooden horses that Raven and Thoma had made long ago. Suddenly, there was a tremendous crashing and clanging in the kitchen, and a moment later, Elly poked her head around the door.

"I beg your pardon, mistress!" she cried. "I went to hang the kettle on the hook and I dropped it. No harm done!" Then just as quickly she disappeared back into the kitchen.

But Marnie hardly noticed her. She was watching the children. When the kettle fell, Roisin had jumped up in surprise, then turned around when Elly cried out. But Robin had not moved from where he was sitting on the floor. He hadn't even looked up once.

With a sudden gnawing dread in the pit of her stomach, Marnie called his name, but he didn't respond. When Roisin was born, they had been so worried, and she had tested her hearing almost every day until she started talking. But since Roisin could hear, they had assumed that Robin could too, in fact, the thought had hardly even crossed her mind. Now she castigated herself for being so complacent. Somewhat desperately, she tried some of the same tests she had used with Roisin, standing right behind him and clapping her hands, but even as she did so, she knew it would be to no avail.

Her mind raced over the last two years. Surely the signs had been there, but she had ignored them. She had been happy that he slept so well, that nothing seemed to awaken him. Like Roisin, he had been quick to start using the hand-signs, but she had to admit that by this age, Roisin had already been speaking, and she had never once heard Robin say an intelligible word.

Still hoping she might be mistaken, she stood directly in front of him and called his name loudly, but still he did not look up. Roisin, however, was regarding her strangely.

"Mama, what are you doing?" she asked. "He can't hear you. You have to use the hand-words with him, like with Papa." She waved her hand right under his nose to get his attention, and signed, _Robin is a good boy!_

At last Robin looked up, and gave her a broad grin. _Good boy!_ He repeated, his eyes shining.

Marnie turned to Roisin in surprise. "You knew? How long?!"

Roisin shrugged. "Since always." She gave her mother a pitying look for being so slow, then returned to her game with Robin, unconcerned.

Marnie paced about for many moments, uncertain what to do. How was it that she had never noticed, when it was obvious even to a six year old child? But even worse than her guilt over not noticing, was the dread of what Raven would say. At last, very reluctantly, she went out to the barn and fetched him inside.

She gestured towards the children, who were still playing by the hearth. _Robin is deaf_, she said.

The color drained from his face, as he looked from her to the children several times over. _You're sure?_ he asked.

_Try calling his name_, she said. _Use your voice_. He did so, but as before only Roisin turned, giving them an exasperated look. Robin did not look up.

Marnie began to sign frantically, the words tumbling one over the other. _I'm sorry, I should have noticed sooner. Roisin said she knew, can you believe it? I should have known, I'm sorry_…but Raven was not watching her. His face had gone slack and he seemed to be staring blankly just over her shoulder. Then suddenly, he was out the door and gone, his long-ago instinct to run away, returned again. But this time, Marnie could tolerate it no longer, and she felt something inside her snap.

"No!" she shouted, as the door was slamming shut, even though she knew it was futile. "Don't you dare run away!" she shrieked. A small wooden bowl was still sitting on the table from breakfast, and she picked it up and hurled it at the door. It broke cleanly in two with a sharp snap.

Drawn by the commotion, Elly ran out from the kitchen, followed by Mairhe. "What is it, mistress?"

Roisin turned to them officiously, "Mama didn't know that Robin can't hear, then Papa went out and Mama got angry and threw the bowl and look! It broke in two!" She rushed over to pick up the pieces and show them off, but Marnie snatched them from her and threw them into the fire.

"Enough!" she shouted. Elly and Mairhe regarded her fearfully. They had never seen her so angry. "He thinks he can run off and leave me with two little children! Oh no! Those days are over!" She snatched her shawl from the peg by the door.

"You mean to go after him?" Elly ventured. "Do you know where he went?"

"I think I can guess," Marnie answered grimly, and slammed the door behind her.

It was a dark, overcast day, no longer winter but still not yet spring. Dark clouds rolled overhead and a cold, raw wind was blowing, but at least it was not raining yet. Marnie ran down the lane, not noticing the cold. She went first to the churchyard, because it was the closest likely spot, but she was not surprised when Raven was not there. When they had first moved to Killacurreen, he had often wandered among the graves as he had in Torcurra, but finding it more likely to have people about in a larger town, it was not his favorite spot. Next she went down by the pier, but again this seemed unlikely, as he usually only went there to watch a ship being unloaded. Finding the pier deserted, Marnie swept alongside the sea wall, following it far outside the edge of town, until at last the wall gave way to a series of bluffs, rising above the shingle. At the top of one of the bluffs, she found Raven, as she knew she would. He was sitting at the edge, looking down at the water. At the bottom of the track was where he kept the little boat he had made with Rufus. It was his favored spot for fishing, although the sea was too rough to go out today, the gray choppy water flecked with whiteheads.

He seemed to notice her coming from a long way off, but did not rise to greet her. He looked terribly lonely sitting there exposed on the bluff, but Marnie's anger had not abated, and for once she did not feel sympathy for him. When at last she reached him, red-faced and panting from her exertions, he turned away.

"No!" She was shouting and signing at the same time. "Look at me!" She grabbed his arm and yanked him around to face her, and pointed her fingers in a V at her eyes_. I'm tired of this!_ she continued. _You can't run away any more! You promised!_

He regarded her dispassionately. _You promised that I could go outside whenever I wanted_, he replied, pointing at her forcefully.

She made a sweeping motion with her hand. _That was before. Now you are a father, you have children, it's different. Do you mean to abandon them?_ He made no answer. _Why?_ she asked, feeling somewhat desperate that she did not seem to be reaching him. _What are you afraid of?_

Raven looked at her in anguish, and at last replied slowly, _I don't want my son to have the same life as me._

_What?_ She said. _Are you so unhappy living here with me? What is the matter?_

_No_, he replied. _Not now, before, when I was small, it was very bad. Always cold, hungry, always beaten._ He twisted his face horribly, imitating the way she had seen long ago when the villagers were whipping him. _No one wants deaf child, always beaten, no parents, never loved._

Marnie sighed. She had hoped that with time these memories would fade and trouble him no longer. But could anyone ever forget such a thing? Suddenly she felt a flash of insight. _You think your parents abandoned you because you are deaf?_ she asked. He nodded miserably_. No!_ she said. _I don't think so. Father Brannan said he found you when you were tiny, very small baby, only a few months. How could they know? Even with our children, we didn't know until they were older. Yes_, she nodded._ I'm sure of it. There must have been another reason, they could not have known._

_Like what?_ he asked.

Marnie hesitated. The alternatives were not much better. _Probably your father and mother were not married, or they were very poor, and couldn't afford to feed you. That is usually the way when people leave babies at a church. They hope the priest will give the child a better life, show it charity._

_But they all hated me_, he said. _Even Father Brannan, sometimes he was kind to me, and sometimes he beat me, boxed my ears._ He imitated the blows.

_Not because you are deaf_, she said. _That I know, because I was there. They didn't know. They all thought you were mad, that you had a demon inside you, even Father Brannan. He didn't know you are deaf until_, she paused, _until I told him. _

_You?_ He pointed at her in disbelief.

She nodded. _I was the one who figured it out_.

She could see the dawning realization light up his face, which had been drawn and shuttered. _Really? You? Why didn't you tell me this before?_

Marnie shrugged. _You were there, I thought you knew._

_Only a few signs then_, he said, _lots of mouth-words, you never explained. But now I understand! Now I understand why you gave me hand-signs, chose my name, not Father Brannan. He didn't know._

Marnie nodded. _He was very sorry, felt very badly for not noticing himself, _she offered_. He loved you in his own way._

Raven shook his head. _Now I understand, he was like a father to me. But then, I didn't know either. Before you gave me hand-signs, I didn't think of anything. No time, nothing separating one moment from the next, no big feelings, no love._

Marnie was shocked. Surely she had misunderstood him? _No love because you didn't know the right word?_

_No words, no feelings_, he repeated. _When I think of that time, before the hand-signs, it's like a dream, all pictures, no time, no meaning. I was like a rabbit, not a person._

Marnie stared at him. She suddenly saw with dreadful clarity, and as if for the first time, the huge and terrible gulf that separated him from the rest of the world. No wonder he did not want to subject a child to such an existence. Her heart wrenched with pity for him. She had thought the physical hardships, being starved and beaten, were beyond bearing, but it had been much worse for him than she had even realized.

_I am sad for you_, she said at last. _But can't you see how it will be different for Robin? He knows the hand-signs already. Think of how many he already knows! He will never be like you were, alone, without language. And he has a family, neighbors, who love him. Does he not look happy?_ Raven still looked somewhat unconvinced, and she felt her frustration spring up again. _But if you run away now, he will know it is because he is deaf. Do you want him to think his father abandoned him because he can't hear? When you run off like this, even for a short time, the children don't know if you will come back, they think you have abandoned them, that you don't love them. Is that what you want?_ As she signed, she grew more furious, and she could feel the color mounting in her cheeks.

_I didn't think of that_, he admitted.

_No!_ she said. _It was fine when you were a child still, to run off whenever you wanted, but now you have a responsibility to your family. If you love me and the children, you won't run off._

He nodded seriously. _I'm sorry. It's very hard._

_I know,_ she said.

_No more, I promise_, he said, and embraced her tightly. A light misting rain had begun to fall, but they hardly seemed to notice. At last they turned for home together.

It was shortly after this that Marnie noticed she was pregnant again. Their third child was another boy, who they named Conor, although because his hair was brown, they gave him the sign-name Dove. This time, they were content with two different names. After what had happened with Robin, Marnie was quick to test his hearing, but it seemed clear before he was even a year old that Conor was deaf as well. When Roisin confirmed her guess, Marnie was certain, but Raven, as he had promised, accepted the news with resignation rather than panic. Indeed, the two boys seemed to prosper, using the hand-signs easily and not seeming at any disadvantage.

By the time Conor was born, Fhiona and Donal at last had a boy as well, named Daithy, although they all joked he would have a hard time of it with three older sisters. Elly and Adan continued to live in the extra room. They did not have any children yet, and Marnie frequently heard Elly scolding Adan when she was vexed with him, and occasionally she even heard things being thrown. Marnie wondered if Elly had done right in marrying someone she clearly considered rather slow, but she seemed happy enough when she wasn't angry, and for his part, Adan would only blush a deep red and promise to do better next time.

As Marnie had promised, Thoma and Peadar came to visit frequently, although perhaps not as frequently as Mairhe would have liked. Thoma had grown into a handsome, if thoughtful and reserved youth. He was tall and lean like his father, but without the same sharp features. His face was round and kind, like his mother, framed by straight brown hair. The children idolized him, and begged him to tell them stories whenever he came to visit. For days afterwards, they would repeat the stories to themselves, practicing the same flowing, rhythmic signs until they could imitate all the same flourishes.

As he grew older, Thoma had less time for visiting and storytelling, but they could still be assured of seeing him and Peadar every Sunday at church. For this reason, the Sunday expedition to church, which previously had been rather haphazard, with only Marnie appearing regularly, had now become an elaborate affair. All the members of the household would take special pains with their appearance, and when the weather was not too cold or wet, Marnie would pack their dinner into an enormous basket which they would eat on the green while they visited and chatted for several hours after the service. Usually Mairhe, Thoma and Peadar would run off together, to walk down by the pier or explore along the shingle. Recently, Marnie noticed that Thoma and Mairhe had been walking together, just the two of them, while Peadar teased and flirted with other girls in the town, although never the same girl twice. Marnie was pleased to see Mairhe and Thoma together, their two brown heads tilted together as they signed to each other, but she made it clear they were to stay in the village square, and not go off to the bluffs alone, which might cause people to talk.

Even the younger children were excited about the weekly outing. When he was small, Robin was a cheerful, friendly child, and Marnie was relieved to see that he did not think of himself as any different from his sister or the neighbor children. But this was not bound to last. The moment of his discovery came when he was five years old, one afternoon after church, as they were sitting on the green enjoying a leisurely lunch. Robin had up to this point been satisfied to play with Roisin, Anneke, Una and Ifa, with Conor and Daithy sometimes tagging along, although they were only two. But recently he had begun to feel that he was too old to be playing with girls and babies. He had seen other boys running about in gangs after church, and he wanted to join them.

Marnie watched him cross the green from where she was sitting with the girls, Conor asleep on her lap. It was a warm sunny day, and they were all feeling relaxed, although she felt a spark of apprehension as she watched him trundle away determinedly towards a group of much older, rough-looking boys. Her family was well-known in the town, and a few of the vendors in the market and some members of Fhiona and Elly's vast family had learned a few basic signs. No one turned their heads when Marnie or Mairhe, or increasingly often, Roisin translated the church service into hand-signs. But except for the Reeve, and Fhiona and Elly's families, they had not become close with other families in the town.

Robin had his back to her, but she could tell that he greeted the older boys with the hand signs. Her heart sank as she saw them gesture mockingly back at him. But still he persisted, and she could see them speaking to him. Although she was too far away to hear what they said, the meaning was clear. But still he persisted, and they began to shout at him angrily. Finally one of them, with a jeering curled lip, gave him a little shove on the side of the head, not enough to knock him down, but enough to show his contempt.

Robin trudged back towards her, looking downcast and bewildered, although not, she was relieved to note, crying. But his question to her was not, as she had anticipated, why they were so cruel to him. Instead he asked, _Why didn't they understand the hand-words?_ He shook his upright index finger, making the form of a question.

_They don't use the hand-words_, she answered. _They talk with their mouths, not their hands._

_Really?_ Robin's eyes widened in amazement. _But just them, right? Everyone else uses hand-signs, right?_

Marnie nearly laughed, but caught herself. _No, only our family. Everyone else talks with their mouths. _

_Really?_ Robin asked again, clearly not believing her. _Really? Everyone? But Anneke and Una know the hand-signs!_

_Anneke and Una only use the hand-signs with you,_ she replied, pointing to him. _At home, with their parents, they talk with their mouths._ She made the shape of a flapping mouth with her fingers.

Robin's thin little face pinched together as he tried to puzzle it out. _But why?_ He asked.

Marnie sighed. _Because you are deaf and they are hearing,_ she told him. Robin repeated the signs _deaf? hearing?_ He clearly didn't know what they meant, although Marnie was sure he had seen them any number of times.

_They make sounds with their mouth and hear it with their ears, but you can't hear the sounds, so you use the hand-words instead_, she explained.

Robin looked thunderstruck. _Me?_ His hands rose to his ears, as if he had never noticed them before. Then a new thought suddenly occurred to him. _Are you deaf too, Mama?_ he asked.

_No,_ she said. _Only you and Conor and Papa_.

_Only me and Conor and Papa?_ He repeated in disbelief. _Not Roisin? Not Elly?_ Marnie shook her head sadly, recalling how hard it had been for Raven to accept this as well, when she first taught him the hand-signs. She could still remember his words: _I feel like everyone else knows something that I don't_. It pained her now to see this same expression of shock and dismay on her own son's face, who looked so much like his father.

_Only we are deaf?_ Robin repeated in disbelief. _Everyone else is hearing? Even Anneke and Una and Ifa and Daithy?_

Marnie nodded. Then she added, _Thoma is also deaf._

_Oh, Thoma_. Robin made a dismissive gesture, as if Thoma hardly counted. _But not Peadar? Not Mairhe?_ Marnie shook her head. _Not you?_ He repeated. She shook her head again, and as a look of hurt and betrayal crossed his face, she felt it stab her to the heart. He sat down with a thud and turned away from her. He would not speak to her for the rest of the day. Marnie's heart wrenched for him, but what was to be done? This was the way of the world, and it was better he learned it when he was young.

From that moment on, Robin changed from cheerful to sullen and withdrawn. He did not seek out the company of the other boys in town again, and even for a time avoided his sister and the other girls. He attempted to engage his brother in his campaign against them; Marnie saw him explain to Conor why they were different, but Conor gave no sign of understanding or going along with it. Most painful to her, for a short time he made a show of ignoring Marnie in favor of Raven, with whom he assumed a somewhat conspiratorial air. But being so small, he could not maintain this for long, and at last relented with his mother and sister. He seemed to forgive her, and Marnie hoped he would return to his sunny disposition, but it was not to be.

In an attempt to make them feel more confident, Marnie tried to get Robin and Conor to speak with their mouths, and to recognize the words that she spoke from the shape of her lips. Conor, being younger, seemed to take to this as a game, and eventually learned to produce at least a few intelligible words, although his voice was not very loud, and most of the sounds were blurred and muffled. He sounded remarkably like his father. Conor was delighted with this new skill, and particularly enjoyed scaring the chickens in the yard by shouting at them, so they fluttered up to the top of the henhouse. But Robin resisted her and refused to use his voice at all, although she could tell he had at least learned to recognize a few words on her lips.

Marnie was a bit concerned that Robin seemed determined to stay only within the protective confines of his family, and not venture out into the world, but Raven only shrugged.

_Mouth-words stupid, hand-words good_, was all he would say, and Robin would repeat after him, giving his mother a triumphant look. Marnie threw up her hands in exasperation.

The one good that came of this was that Robin and Conor grew extraordinarily close. As they spent all their time talking together, the number and complexity of the hand-signs leaped again, as it had when she had first taught the signs to Peadar and Mairhe. But Marnie also noted it was drifting further and further from spoken language. Between them, Robin and Conor's signs were so quick and subtle she sometimes had trouble following them. They also invented new signs she was hard-pressed to find equivalents for. In order to prevent them from devolving into an entirely secret code, Marnie always pressed them to explain their new words to her. They were alternately amused and annoyed with her interruptions to the steady flow of their conversation.

_Mama, your signs are bad!_ Conor said one day during dinner, when she stopped them again to explain a new word.

_My signs?_ Marnie said, chagrined. _What do you mean?_

He imitated her, making slow, choppy, blocky movements. _So slow! So plain!_ he said.

Elly and Raven burst out laughing.

_Cheeky!_ said Elly, giving his arm a tweak. _Ungrateful brat!_

_Don't_, said Marnie. _He doesn't know_. She reached across the table to tousle his hair and pat him on the head reassuringly.

_Know what_, Conor and Robin both demanded.

Raven winked at them. _Your Mama invented the signs. She thought them up herself. When I was little like you, no signs, nothing_. They gaped at him in surprise, then turned to her.

_Mama, is that true?_

Marnie made a sweeping motion with the blade of her hand. _Yes, but it doesn't matter. The signs belong to all of us now_. She grinned at them mischievously._ So who has good signs?_

_Thoma!_ they both answered at once. _Thoma is very good!_ Conor thought for a moment, and added, _Roisin is good too._

It was true, Roisin also had a graceful rhythm to her signing that was pleasant to watch. But even more so, she had made an important innovation that the boys prized highly. Since the time she was a baby, Marnie had sung to her, all the songs she knew, and Roisin had learned them all by heart, and more, that she had learned from the girls next door. She had a sweet, light voice, and could remember all the words to endless ballads without hesitating. In the evenings after supper had been cleared away, Marnie and Elly would often induce her to sing while they worked on their mending. When the boys were babies, they never noticed her, and Raven tended to watch her with a vaguely bemused air, or wander off if he was bored. But as the boys grew older, they demanded to know what she was doing, and were jealous of her attention.

One night, as she began to sing, they again pestered her, tugging at her skirts and hands, so she began to sign the words to the song as she sang it. Robin and Conor sat in front of her, their eyes wide with rapt attention. She made the signs fit the words of the song, so when she held a note, she also moved her hands about, imitating the rhythm of the song, and adding little flourishes here and there.

After that, they insisted on songs before bed every night, and demanded Marnie and Elly and Mairhe perform for them as well. They obliged to the best of their ability, but there was no question Roisin was the best.

And yet, after that conversation, Marnie was relieved to notice that Robin at last seemed to forget the long-ago hurt of discovering that she could hear and he could not. He still made no effort to make friends with the boys in the town, preferring to stay close to home. He had taken an interest in Donal's workshop, and could often be found there, either carving with a small chisel Donal had given him, or just crouching in the wood shavings, watching the men work.

One Sunday after church, as the family was visiting on the green with Thoma and Peadar, Thoma asked if they had ever been to the top of the bell tower.

_What's a bell?_ Conor asked.

Thoma pointed to the steeple above the church, where the brown bell was just barely visible. _There_, he said. _Every Sunday morning they ring the bell, and the people all around hear the noise and know it's time for church._

_Really?_ Conor and Robin looked incredulous. They looked to their parents to confirm this strange new information. Marnie nodded, but Raven only shrugged; apparently he did not know about the bell either. They turned to Riosin and Mairhe. _Really? Are you sure?_

The girls nodded and laughed. _Yes_, Mairhe said. _I hear it even in our house, and it tells me that you are a slug-a-bed again, and making us late for church!_

Still the boys seemed baffled by this mysterious bell that could talk so far away, even in their house.

_Would you like to see it ringing?_ Thoma asked.

_Yes, yes!_ they said, nodding vigorously.

Father Seamus agreed to allow them up in the evening, just before the bell was rung for vespers. The bell was rung by means of a rope, pulled by a servant far below, but Thoma led Raven, Robin and Conor all the way to the top of the belfry, up a narrow staircase and out onto the platform, encircled by a railing, that ran all the way around the bell. It had looked so small from the ground, but up close they could see it was enormous, the metal several inches thick and the clapper larger than a man's head.

All at once, the bell began to sway back and forth. The boys and their father grasped the railing with both hands, their eyes opened wide in surprise. A prickling, tingling feeling passed through the palms of their hands and the soles of their feet, through their entire bodies, swelling and abating in time with the swings of the mighty bell.

_What is that?_ Conor asked.

Thoma laughed. _That is sound. A big, big sound, it makes big vibrations. When you talk with your mouth, it makes a vibration in your throat, but very small, only hearing people feel it with their ears. But the bell makes a big sound, you can feel it with your whole body._

Raven and Robin seemed entranced, savoring the feeling of the vibrations as long as the bell kept ringing, and even after. But for Conor, it was like a revelation. He put his hands to his throat as he shouted and grunted, marveling at the vibrations he felt there. He continued doing this the whole way home, until Marnie had to explain to him that not all sounds were pleasant. But although Conor now seemed alive to the world of sound around him, he still did not seem any more inclined than his brother to speak with his mouth.

5

As the years passed, word got around the town and even surrounding areas that Marnie and her family had a special language for the deaf, and that she had even taught the Reeve's son to speak it. As a result, they were not infrequently visited by people who wished to learn the hand-words from them. Marnie and Raven were always happy to take them in and teach them as best they could. Most of these people were like Rufus, very old men and women who had gradually become hard of hearing. These elders only visited a few times, and once they had learned a few simple signs to communicate with their families, they were satisfied.

"It's because they can talk with their mouths, and they would rather talk than listen," Elly observed, but Marnie shushed her and tried to treat them kindly. Occasionally they were visited by a younger person, who, like Thoma, had lost some or most of their hearing after an illness. These people sometimes boarded with them for weeks as they learned, but again, most left after learning some basic signs, preferring not to make as careful a study as Thoma had.

But Marnie had never met another who, like her husband and sons, had been born completely deaf. Never, that is, until Sera arrived.

They first heard of her existence when they were visited unexpectedly by Sera's mother, the Lady Grange. In spite all the heartbreak that would proceed from that visit, which Marnie would recall again and again with great regret, she could not but feel that she had tried to act in the girl's best interests.

It was on a market day, a windy day late in the fall. Marnie and Roisin were alone in the house. She had sent Mairhe and Elly off to market, taking Conor and Robin with them, and Adan was in the barn. Raven had wandered off in the morning, presumably to Donal's workshop, since it was too windy for fishing. Marnie and Roisin were in the kitchen, boiling down the last of the apples to make a preserve, when they heard an imperious knocking at the door. Roisin ran out to answer, followed more slowly by Marnie, wiping her sticky hands on her apron.

The door flew open to reveal a liveried manservant, who had been knocking with a metal-tipped walking stick. He bowed deeply and announced,

"The Lady Grange," as a tall, haughty woman swept into the room. She was tall and thin, with wisps of pale blonde hair peeking out the sides of her sarcenet. She was dressed even more lavishly than the Reeve's wife, in heavy wool robes with long, trailing sleeves, and jewel-studded belt. Marne gaped at her, suddenly conscious of her old brown gown, now stained with apple, and her plain white kerchief and apron.

"Mistress O'Field?" the lady enquired. Marnie curtsied, tongue-tied. The lady turned to Roisin. "And this girl?" she asked in icy tones.

"My daughter, your ladyship," Marnie managed.

The Lady Grange turned the full force of her regard on the girl. "What is your name?" she demanded.

"My name is Roisin, my lady," she said, dropping a brave curtsy.

"And how old are you?"

"I'll be fourteen come winter," she replied.

Lady Grange seemed very pleased with this answer, and nodded slowly. Marnie was baffled. Why had this great lady come to her house? Just to ask her daughter's age?

"How may we be of service to you, my lady?" Marnie asked, hoping to cut the visit short.

Lady Grange turned back to her. "Are you the one who taught the Reeve's son to speak?" she asked.

Marnie nodded. "Yes, I am. I and my husband," she said.

The lady looked about her with obvious distaste, taking in the details of the main room, the long table with benches on either side, the big fireplace with the settle and chairs in front, the stairs to the sleeping loft above. Marnie bristled at having her beloved house, with its fine wooden floor and muslin over the windows, regarded with such contempt, but she held her tongue.

At last the lady nodded. "I suppose this will do," she said.

"I beg your pardon?" Marnie was losing patience.

"I would like you to teach my daughter as you taught the Reeve's son. Like him, she will live with you, and I will provide a generous allowance for her upkeep."

"I see," said Marnie. "And how old is your daughter?"

"She is six. Is that too young?"

"Oh no, my lady. My own children learned when they were still infants. Isn't that right, Roisin?" Roisin nodded. "If I may inquire," Marnie continued, "When did your daughter lose her hearing?"

Lady Grange's lips tightened. "As far as I can determine, she was always so. A fault on her father's side, no doubt. I am third cousin to the Earl of Grange, and I can assure you my bloodline is faultless."

"Doubtless, my lady," Marnie murmured, but already her thoughts were on the unfortunate child.

"She is our only child," Lady Grange continued. "I _will_ see her wed to a man of noble birth and gentle breeding. I can't have her bleating and cowering like an animal. Are you certain you can teach her?"

"I cannot cure her deafness, but yes, I can teach her," Marnie replied, suddenly eager to take over the care of this girl. the mother's words had already filled her with dread for the child.

"Very well then," Lady Grange said with finality. "I will return to Cairstiona and send her here." Marnie stared at her. Cairstiona was over two weeks' journey away. "You may expect her in a month. She will stay here for one year, at the end of which time I will return to fetch her home." Without waiting for confirmation or farewell, Lady Grange swept from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Marnie and Roisin stared at each other in surprise. "A whole year?" Roisin said. "The poor wee thing, she'll be pining for her mother the whole time!"

Marnie's face was grim. "I rather think not," she said.

When the family assembled over dinner and she told them all the news, there was much speculation about the child, although as they spoke, Marnie realized how little they knew of her. The Lady Grange had not even mentioned her name. They simply referred to her as the girl. Over the course of the next few weeks, hardly a day went by without one of the children asking, _I wonder what the girl will look like? I wonder what she likes to eat? Will she find it so very different here with us? _Roisin and Mairhe seemed to have conceived an image of the child as a little princess, but Marnie, recalling what Raven had been like when she first met him, had grave doubts about the condition of the girl. Would she be subject to the same fits of rage? Would she be in the same pitiful state? Surely not, with a family to care for her, not a foundling as Raven had been, but recalling her brief encounter with the mother only deepened her anxiety.

As Marnie had promised, their own children were nothing like Raven had been. They all three seemed no different from any other children, expect for they way they talked. Roisin was nearing fourteen, looking more like her mother every day, only with her father's eyes. Robin was now ten, and the very image of his father, and still tending to be somewhat withdrawn, although Marnie had eventually concluded it was just his nature, and not a sign of unhappiness. Conor, now eight, was the more outgoing and curious of the two brothers. He did not resemble either of his parents, but like Mairhe and Peadar, took after Marnie's mother, with a round face and straight, light brown hair and brown eyes, while Roisin and Robin both had curly black hair, and the same pale grey eyes. Marnie was filled with pride when she saw them all signing to each other, their faces and whole bodies animated with meaning. It seemed to her there were no cleverer or more beautiful children in the world.

The older children, Mairhe, Peadar, and Thoma, were now children no more, but grown to adults. Mairhe was now taller than Marnie, and slender and beautiful, but still she lived at home with her sister. Marnie felt a twinge of guilt for keeping her at home so long past the age when she should have married, but they had all been waiting for Thoma to propose to her, and this he had not yet done. For the past two years, the Reeve had been sending Thoma and Peadar abroad, on long sea voyages to distant ports, to see the shipping trades first hand, and, Marnie suspected, to test the limits of Thoma's understanding and Peadar's skills as a translator. She had not asked them directly, but it seemed Thoma and Mairhe had an agreement between them, that he was waiting until this period of testing was over and he came into his majority before asking for her hand. The months when Thoma and Peadar were gone seemed hard on Mairhe, but she bore up bravely, as one who seems certain of her future, and not heartsick over a hopeless love, so Marnie wisely decided not to interfere.

She was more concerned over Elly and Adan, who still showed no signs of having their own children or moving to their own house. She feared Elly had made a bad match, for she often heard her scolding and nagging Adan. But when she spoke of these fears to Fhiona, her neighbor only laughed.

"That one is only happy when she has something to complain about," Fhiona said. "Although it is a pity they have no children." She shook her head regretfully. Fhiona herself now had ten children, and Marnie suspected she also pitied her for having only three.

Four weeks after Lady Grange's visit, there came a knock on the door late one evening. The whole family was at home, as it happened. Marnie and the girls were clearing away the remains of supper, while Raven and the boys lounged by the fire. Marnie answered the door herself, with some trepidation, and found to her surprise, not Lady Grange or a haughty servant, but a friendly looking man holding a tiny, blonde-haired child. Two servants stood behind them, one holding the horse, and the other unloading a small trunk from the cart.

The man stepped inside and introduced himself as Robert of Cairstiona.

"Not Lord Grange?" Marnie blurted out, then immediately regretted her rudeness.

Robert of Cairstiona laughed. "No, indeed. I suppose my wife mentioned her connection to the Earl of Grange, but for my part, I am a humble miller." Not quite humble, Marnie thought, taking in his rich clothing, which rivaled his wife's, but his easy bearing bespoke his common roots. So, a poor cousin to aristocracy marries a wealthy miller, but regrets her drop in station, and pins her hopes of rising again on her daughter's marriage. She sighed. An unfortunate fate for the girl, even if she were not deaf.

"Is this the child?" she asked, smiling and waving at the girl, who did not respond.

"Yes," he said, setting her down. "I regret she will not greet you herself, but this is Sera." Marnie took a step towards her, but the girl shrank back. She was small for her age, a tiny slip of a thing, with lank, colorless hair, and brown eyes that seemed huge in her hollow, pale face. Marnie's heart sank to look at her. She knew that look only too well, although it was years and years now since she had seen it. It was the same look Raven had once had as a boy in Torcurra: feral, hunted. Her clothes were ragged and stained, and her face was covered in grime and smeared with tears and snot.

She turned her attention back to the father, who, it seemed, intended to stay no longer than the mother had. He supervised the servant unloading the cart, and handed Marnie a heavy purse.

"You must think me heartless, leaving so quickly, but trust me, it is better by far for her sake if we do not extend our parting unnecessarily," he said, somewhat apologetically. Marnie did not reply, but only watched as he picked Sera up again and embraced her tightly. He kissed her on both cheeks, and promised to return in a year, although he knew she could not hear him. As he set her down again, Marnie noticed his cheeks glistening with tears, and it pained her to see Sera not returning his affection, but only standing there listlessly. Marnie was certain the girl did not understand what was happening, but more than that, she was thinking on how Raven had described his own state of mind: _No words, no love_.

Sera hardly seemed to notice when her father and the servants left and the door closed behind them. The rest of the family had been standing back while Marnie conversed with Robert, but now that he was gone, they crowded around curiously. Sera took one look at the crowd, then fled with a guttural yelp to the farthest corner of the room. She pressed her back up against the corner, her hands defensively held on either wall, and glared at them with a mixture of defiance and terror.

_Why is she scared? _Conor asked.

_She doesn't understand_, Raven answered, his face creased with concern. _She doesn't know any hand-words, nothing._

_She looks like a rabbit, scared out of its den!_ Conor said. _Look at her big eyes! She's like a little hare!_ He traced rabbit ears above his head, but small, dainty ones. _Little Hare_.

_That's good!_ Robin said. _That should be her sign name, Little Hare!_

_Little Hare_, Raven repeated thoughtfully, _that's good. Are you hungry, Little Hare? _he asked, but of course she did not reply.

Raven picked up a piece of bread from the table, left over from supper. He turned back to Sera, not too close, and kneeled down so he was at her level. With one hand he held out the bread, and with the other, he mimed bringing a spoon to his mouth, the sign for_ eat_. Marnie realized with a pang that it was the same gesture she had first used with him. Still Sera did not respond, but continued to look panicked and wild-eyed. Patiently, Raven repeated the sign, then pointed to the bread, and pointed to Sera. At last hunger seemed to overtake her fear. She reached out a hand, but Raven shook his head and beckoned to her. With slow, hesitant steps, she left the corner and walked over to him. He handed her the bread, which she gobbled noisily, as though she hadn't eaten in days. Raven encircled her with one hand, gently stroking her hair, while the other hand pressed his knuckle into his cheek: _delicious! good!_ When she finished, he made the sign for _eat_ again, and this time she seemed to understand. With a remarkable look of dawning understanding, she repeated the sign back to him. He nodded, then pointed to the table, and said, _sit down. Sit. We sit together, eat._

Raven led her to the table and settled her on the bench, then sat across from her. Without taking his eyes off Sera, he signed to Elly to bring them bread and milk. Elly sprang off to the kitchen, and the children made to join them on at the table, but Marnie held them back.

_No,_ she said, _don't frighten her, stay back for now._

They all watched in fascination as Sera wolfed down the bowl of bread and milk that Elly brought, while Raven watched her and repeated the same signs, _good, delicious_. He never took his eyes off her for a moment. It was the same steady, hypnotic stare he had used as a boy to charm the little birds to come and eat from his hands.

When she had finished the bread and milk, Sera gave a huge yawn, laid her head down on the table, and promptly fell asleep. Raven turned his gaze from her at last. _Elly, lay out her pallet, and I will carry her upstairs,_ he said.

_But she's so dirty! _Marnie protested. _Shouldn't we give her a bath first?_

Raven looked at the sleeping child, then back at Marnie. _No, she is too tired now. Let her sleep tonight, then give her a bath tomorrow morning._ Elly and Mairhe hoisted her trunk between them and went to ready her bedding. Raven gently gathered the sleeping child in his arms and carried her upstairs.

That night, Sera slept soundly, and the next morning joined them calmly for breakfast, which she consumed as voraciously as she had eaten supper the night before, while Elly prepared a hot bath in the kitchen. But when Marnie led her to the kitchen, she eyed the steaming tub warily. Marnie made to pull off her clothes, but Sera shook her head resolutely no and started backing away. Marnie took a firm hold of her hand to keep her from running off, and tugged her towards the tub, but Sera pulled her hand away and began to scream, a piercing, hair-raising wail that seemed to go on and on. Marnie and Elly both tried to take hold of the child, but she flailed her arms and scratched at them so they could not even get close. Marnie felt herself starting to panic, in spite of herself, and turned to fetch Raven, but he was already standing behind her.

_Do something_, she gestured frantically. Sera continued to scream, her face turning red, then purple.

As he had before, Raven knelt down in front of her, not too close, and just waited patiently, gesturing for Marnie and Elly to stay far back. Gradually Sera's screams quieted to choking sobs, but still Raven did not approach her. At last, when she had calmed completely, she at last seemed to take notice of him.

_Eat?_ she asked, looking hopeful.

Raven shook his head. _No eat. You already ate_. She looked blank. Raven made a scrubbing gesture on his shoulder. _Wash. You wash now. Good, right?_ He made his signs as broad and simple as possible.

Sera shook her head._ No wash._

With infinite patience, Raven took up a cloth and dipped it in the warm water, then squeezed it out, then held out his hand to her. She looked at him doubtfully, but he just kept his hand out, an open invitation, and eventually, reluctantly, she put one grubby hand in his. He rubbed it gently with the washcloth, wiping each finger until it was pink and clean. She watched him, fascinated in spite of herself. When he had finished, he rinsed the cloth out, while she already had her other hand stuck out to be washed. When he was done, he put the cloth down, then made a fluttering motion with both hands, rising from his waist to his shoulders. _Feels good. Feels good, right?_ She looked at her warm, pink hands in wonder.

Next, he mimed washing his face, then waved a finger at her in question. _Will you wash your face?_ He rinsed out the cloth again and handed it to her. She wiped the grime from her face, gingerly at first, then with more vigor, until it too was pink and shining.

_Feels good!_ he said again, repeating the sign several times. Then he pushed up his sleeve and stuck his hand in the water up to the elbow, smiling and beckoning to her. She joined him, and thrust both arms in. Her sleeves were instantly soaked, but she smiled for the first time. He nodded in encouragement, then mimed taking off clothes and climbing in. Again she looked wary, but he made no move towards her, instead gesturing for her to do it herself. At last she nodded, slipped off her tunic and shift and climbed in.

"Well, I never!" Elly exclaimed.

"I suppose she was frightened, being set upon by strangers," Marnie speculated, but Elly snorted in derision.

"That was not fear, mistress, that was willfulness. Mark my words, that child has a fearsome temper."

They watched as Raven supervised Sera scrubbing herself with a bit of soap, making sure she got clean everywhere, even her hair. Marnie sighed, remembering Raven's own terrifying rage. There was no trace of that now, nor of the clear, innocent look he used to have. Fatherhood and domestic life had removed all traces of wildness from him.

"She is angry because she can't talk to us," Marnie said to Elly. "Let us hope that as she learns the hand-words, she becomes more calm."

Yet Sera was slow to learn the signs, far slower than Raven or even Thoma had been. Marnie had to remind herself constantly that Thoma had already known how to speak, and that when she had first made up the signs with Raven, they had been so much simpler. Sera learned a few signs quickly enough, their names and the signs for things that could be easily pointed to or demonstrated. But when it came to more abstract concepts, she merely looked blank, and the complex grammar she ignored completely. It didn't help that Robin and Conor had a habit of grabbing her hands to correct her when she made a sign the wrong way. She would snatch her hands behind her back and refuse to speak for hours afterwards. When Marnie saw this happen, she grabbed Conor's hand and gave him a sharp rap across the knuckles.

_Stop it! _she said. _Leave her alone._ Conor looked contrite, and Marnie felt badly. The boys didn't intend to be cruel to her. _Remember she is Little Hare, _Marnie said,_ you have to play gently with her or you'll scare her away._

But as Elly had warned, it was more than fear. It seemed evident that in her own home, Sera had gotten her way by throwing fearsome screaming fits of temper, sometimes even scratching and biting, in a contest of wills she never tired of and did not intend to lose. At the end of the month, Marnie felt utterly exhausted, drained by the constant screaming and unpredictable stubbornness. Sera's presence was taking a toll on the others as well. Elly and Mairhe were both snappish and short-tempered. Anneke and Una and the other children next door, who usually spent so much time with them, found reasons to stay away, and Roisin, Robin and Conor went with them, or as much as Marnie would allow. The only one who did not lost patience with her was Raven.

At Marnie's suggestion, Raven took Sera to see the ships at the docks, and for long walks along the bluffs. Sera, coming from Cairstiona, which was well inland, had never seen the ocean before. This delighted her, and they were glad there was something to please her, but again it caused problems, since they did not want to allow her out by herself, and she demanded to be taken for walks at all hours, and in all weather, even though winter was setting in rapidly.

Sera was also displeased with the food they ate. In particular, it seemed she was not accustomed to eating fish, and there were many battles waged over the dinner table. But Raven just kept signing to her, patiently repeating each word slowly and simply. It was difficult to tell how much she understood them, because she seemed extremely reluctant to use the signs herself.

One day at dinner, as Marnie set a plate down in front of her, Sera pushed it away with her hand, simultaneously kicking the table leg with her foot, making the whole table jump. The set of her jaw indicated an impending tantrum, but to Marnie's surprise, rather than screaming or overturning the plate, Sera signed, _I don't want salt cod._

Marnie was so relieved to see her sign a full sentence that she could not be angry. Instead of scolding, as she had before, she asked,_ What do you want to eat?_

_Pork sausage,_ Sera replied promptly.

_We don't have any pork sausage today_, Marnie answered. _But if you are a good girl and eat the salt cod today, then tomorrow I will let you go to market with Mairhe to buy a pork sausage, and you can have it for dinner tomorrow._

Sera regarded her thoughtfully. _Tomorrow?_ she repeated the sign with a questioning look.

_Yes, tomorrow, sleep, wake up, tomorrow morning. Today, salt cod, tomorrow, pork sausage. _Marnie made the signs slowly and distinctly, pausing after each one.

Sera looked at Marnie, then at the plate of the hated fish, then back at Marnie. Marnie could practically see the thoughts forming in her mind as she worked it out. At last her face cleared and she nodded. _Yes_, she said. _Salt cod today, pork sausage tomorrow._

Marnie sat down with a sigh of relief, and Raven, who was sitting next to her on the bench, gave her a quick hug. _Good girl!_ he said. _Very clever!_

After that, the frequency of her tantrums gradually abated. But the lesson that she could get what she wanted more easily with words than by screaming was a hard one, and one she had a tendency to forget.

That winter seemed especially long and stormy. Trapped inside with nothing to do, the children were prone to bickering and picking at each other. Thoma and Peadar were away, and Mairhe was despondent. Raven was spending much more time at home than he ever had, in part to be near Sera, but also in part because the sea was so stormy, he was reluctant to set out fishing in his tiny boat. And when the rest of them were also on edge, Sera seemed more likely to fly into a rage.

But at last the days grew longer, and the warm breeze began to blow, and the sea grew calmer. One day when he was sure it would be fine, Raven took Sera, Conor and Robin fishing with him in the boat, early in the morning. They returned later with windswept hair and red cheeks, grinning and holding up a string of fresh fish for dinner. Even Sera had caught one herself, a tiny dory, that she insisted Elly clean and serve up to her.

_Is it good? _Marnie asked.

Sera nodded happily. _I caught it myself,_ she said boastfully, as she had been doing all day.

_But you don't like fish_, Roisin teased her.

Sera gave her a defiant look. _This one is different, I caught it myself,_ she said, and they all laughed. From that day, Sera went fishing with Raven as often as he would let her. Indeed, she was spending nearly every minute with him. Marnie was concerned that his own children might feel jealous of all the attention he gave her, but they were old enough now that they preferred to go off on their own. Now that she was speaking more freely, Robin and Conor got on better with Sera, and sometimes took her with them when they went to walk along the shingle to see what the sea had brought in, or down to the docks to see the ships unloading, but it was Raven who was clearly her favorite. She had also taken to sleeping in the bed with them, which Marnie disliked, but was unsure how to stop her. When Conor had outgrown his cradle, Donal had built them another bed, and now Mairhe and Roisin slept in one and Robin and Conor slept in the other. Sera was the only one with a pallet on the floor, which seemed cold and lonely.

Sera had also taken to calling Marnie and Raven _Mama_ and_ Papa_, imitating Roisin, Robin and Conor. Everyone else seemed to find this charming, but Marnie felt a cold stab of dread in the pit of her stomach every time she saw Sera look up at Raven and make the sign for _Papa _with an adoring look.

As they were settling in to bed one night, she watched them go through what had become a nightly ritual.

_Good night, Little Hare_, he said, and she replied, _Good night Papa. See you in the morning._

_In the morning, Little Hare,_ he replied, and kissed her forehead. She rolled over with a contented sigh, and closed her eyes.

Raven made to blow out the candle, but Marnie stopped him.

_We shouldn't let her call us Mama and Papa,_ she said. _We are not her parents. Her real mother and father will be coming in half a year to take her away. What will they think?_

Raven shrugged, with the look she had seen so often that said he didn't care what the rest of the world did or thought.

_She is not our child,_ Marnie insisted. _No good will come of this._ But Raven had already turned away to blow out the candle, and did not see her words.

With the return of the warm weather, the ships also began to return to Killacurreen from their long journeys south. Whenever she had the chance, Mairhe would slip off to the docks to watch and wait. At last, one day she came home brimming with smiles, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. When Marnie asked if the Reeve's ship had come in, she only smiled and nodded, seeming unusually shy.

A few days later, Thoma and Peadar came to visit. After exchanging joyful greetings all around, Peadar took the children outside with a meaningful wink, leaving Thoma sitting alone with Marnie at the table. With a look of grave formality, he asked her permission to wed her sister. Marnie was a bit surprised he was asking so formally. Thoma was twenty-five now. He had reached his age of majority, and assumed most of his father's duties as Reeve. He could have married her out of hand if he so chose.

Marnie smiled at him. _You don't have to ask my permission_, she said.

Thoma nodded seriously. _I know. But you are like a second mother to me. I could never go against your wishes. I must be certain we have your blessing._

_Of course!_ Marnie replied. _You two have been constant companions since you were children. Why should you even think I would object?_ Marnie was half teasing, but as usual, Thoma regarded her gravely.

_You have given me so much_, he said. _My father sent me to learn from you, but you didn't just teach me the hand-words. Your brother will spend his life serving me, and now your sister too. I am grateful for all you have given me. I could never have become Reeve without you, but it seems too much to ask to give both your sister and brother over to my service._

_Never think that way_, Marnie said. _Since the day you came to live with us, I feel you have been part of our family. You and your father have given us so much as well, and Peadar has a career far above our parents' station, because of you. And as for Mairhe, it would break her heart not to be wed to you. When you left our house, she cried and cried, and begged every day to be allowed to go live with you. These past weeks she has been to the docks every day waiting for you._

Thoma blushed, but his serious face was shining. _You wish to see us wed?_

Marnie embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks. _I should like it above all things. _

The banns were posted, and the wedding was set for early summer. The day before the ceremony, they held a bride's feast for Mairhe in the back garden, with tables and benches carried outside under the apple trees. Fhiona and Donal were there, of course, with their children, and also many members of Fhiona and Elly's extended family. Marnie felt a twinge of regret that no one from Fernleigh was there, not their mother nor any of their other sisters and brothers. She had sent word to them from time to time over the years, but there had never been a reply. Her time in Fernleigh felt like a hundred years ago, a different lifetime. Their lives were in Killacurreen now.

It was a lively, happy afternoon, with the tables groaning with food, and the family and guests laughing and joking in high spirits. The children, even Sera, had been set to fetch the dishes from the kitchen as Elly and Roisin and the other girls turned them out. Fhiona watched Sera carefully weaving her way around the tables, filling each cup with punch from a clay pitcher.

"You've worked a miracle with that child," Fhiona commented to Marnie.

Marnie shook her head. "No, it wasn't me, it was Raven."

Fhiona laughed. "I'm sure it was all of you. But look at her! She has changed utterly." It was true. She had lost some of the hunted, hollow-eyed look, and begun to fill out a bit. Her hair now shone a pale golden color, and her cheeks were round and pink. Roisin had taken precious time away from working on Mairhe's wedding gown to sew a new tunic for her, and she now paraded around the table proudly, with her hair brushed and plaited, careful not to get dirty as she filled their cups.

Marnie shook her head, and leaned close to Fhiona to whisper, "She's come a long way, but for a time, I was afraid she was simple."

Fhiona nodded, her lips pursed. "You're sure she isn't?"

Marnie sighed. "She was so slow to learn the hand-words, even now she doesn't talk much, but she seems to understand whatever we say to her. Now that she has words, she seems a bit more like a child her age should be. But still…"

"She doesn't have a curious mind," Fhiona said. "Your Conor, now that one is too clever by half. It's little wonder she seems slow in comparison to him." They laughed together, watching Sera march sedately back to the kitchen, while Conor, thinking he was unobserved, dumped the plates in his hands on the table haphazardly, then sneaked off to find Daithy and the younger children.

As the feast wore on, and the afternoon light changed to the golden haze of evening, Marnie went to sit beside Mairhe, and put her arm around her.

"I'm sorry this day has been so long in coming for you," she said.

Mairhe smiled at her. "Think nothing of it."

But Marnie was still anxious. "I'm afraid I have taken too much from you, taking you into my house, away from Mother and all the rest, making you work so hard…"

"No! Sister, Peadar and I have often said how grateful we are to you for taking us in. There was nothing for us in Fernleigh. We have been so happy here, and you have cared for us so kindly."

Marnie squeezed her. "It's very selfish of me, but I will miss having you here."

Her sister hugged her back, then looked into her face anxiously. "Are you sure you'll be alright without me?"

Marnie felt tears starting in her eyes, but she wiped them away impatiently. "Of course! Don't you worry about that. Conor and Robin are big enough to look after themselves now, and even Sera is no trouble anymore. Besides, I still have Elly and Roisin to help me."

Mairhe laughed, then looked over to where Roisin was sitting beside one of Donal's apprentices. "I wouldn't count on that! She may not be at home much longer."

It was true. Marnie suddenly realized, seeing them together, that lately Roisin had seemed to take a special interest in this boy, named Stel, and it was easy to see why. Sixteen years, with laughing, twinkling blue eyes and thick sandy hair, he had an easy way with the girls, alternately teasing and flattering, with winks and pinches. Something he had just said made Roisin laugh loudly, her cheeks aflame. Marnie felt uneasy watching them. It was hard to believe that Roisin was now the same age as she had been when she agreed to marry Sir Isake. She could see now why her mother had objected. Even apart from all the grief he had brought her, fourteen was too young to be married. She was still only a child.

Later that night, after the guests had left, as they were clearing away the remains of the feast, Marnie confronted Roisin in the kitchen.

"You seem quite friendly with that boy Stel," she began. Roisin only blushed and looked away. "Have you thought this through?" Marnie continued. "He's only here as an apprentice. In another year, he will have to leave as a journeyman. Roisin, he can't set up his shop here. He's bound to leave and never come back. Is that what you want? To go with him and leave us all forever?"

Roisin looked up at her suddenly, her eyes wide. Her face, drained of color, stood out sharply against her unruly dark hair.

"If you truly wish to wed him, I will not forbid it," Marnie continued. "But we need you here. Your father needs you. And what will your brothers do when I am gone? Thoma has Peadar and Mairhe, but who will Robin and Conor have? What will happen to this house? Have you thought on that?"

Slowly, Roisin's face crumpled. "No!" she shouted. Marnie was taken aback. Roisin was normally so sweet-tempered. It was not like her to have a fit of temper, but now her face was red and tears were running down. "No! You're wrong! That's not…!" she broke off and ran from the kitchen, up to her bed. It would be the last night she would share it with Mairhe.

The next morning, Roisin joined Elly and her mother in helping Mairhe into her wedding gown, and preparing the rest of the family for the bride's procession. She did not say anything further about the handsome apprentice next door, although her eyes were still red-rimmed and swollen. But there was no time for arguing. At last they had Mairhe mounted on the white horse that Thoma had sent, looking very smart with an elegant blanket and flowers braided into its mane. Adan took the horses' bridle, and the rest of the family followed behind, along with Fhiona and Donal and all their children. It was a noisy, joyous procession that wound its way slowly through the streets.

The ceremony itself was held not in the Reeve's private chapel, but in the church, to accommodate all the guests. The bride's party, although considerable, was dwarfed by the number of merchants and tradesmen who had come to pay their respects to the new Reeve. Father Seamus, now a bent old man, led the mass himself, with Peadar standing off to one side, translating his words into the hand signs. Marnie realized with a start how much of the Latin mass she simply recited by sound without understanding the words; it was strange to see them spelled out so clearly. She felt a surge of pride that her own brother had become so learned.

When it came time to recite their vows, both Mairhe and Thomas spoke and signed at the same time. Thoma's voice, heard so rarely, rang out clearly in the nave. It was flat and rough and somewhat muffled, but easy enough to understand.

Once the mass was over, they filed out of the church for a massive feast on the church green. There were tables and benches set out for the guests of honor, then further off, more tables with food for any in the town who wished to come, and handouts for the poor. A group of jonguleurs stood behind the main table, tuning their instruments and preparing for the singing and dancing that would come after they had eaten. Mairhe and Thoma took their places at the center of the table, with their families arrayed on either side. Mairhe looked radiant in her jeweled chaplet and starched white veil, as she poured the wine for her husband.

_I've never seen her so happy_, Marnie said to Raven.

He nodded, smiling._ It's a good match_, he said, his gestures somewhat abridged, since he was holding Sera on his lap. She was staring at all the finery with huge eyes.

_You've been a very good girl,_ Raven said to her, and pulled a sweet nut pie for her off a huge platter as a reward. She munched it noisily, staring all around her.

As the feast commenced, Marnie was overjoyed to see the flutter of hands up and down the table, as everyone used the hand signs, not just her own family, but people in the Reeve's household whom she had never even met. At the center of the table, Thoma looked relaxed and confident as he spoke with his hands. There was no trace now of the mournful, shadowed look he bore when she had first met him. And Raven too, and her own children, were laughing and joking with the other guests so easily. She felt her chest swell with emotion to think that so many people had learned the signs just to speak to a few, and to see them all talking so freely as if there were no difference between any of them. She dashed away a few tears, which did not escape Raven's notice. He poked her playfully in the ribs.

_Are you sad that Mairhe is leaving us?_

Marnie shook her head, smiling. _No, I'm just so happy._

Raven gave her an odd look, then pointed with his chin down the table, where Roisin was sulking and picking at her food. _What's wrong with her?_ he asked.

Marnie threw up her hands in exasperation. _She's angry because I told her that if she takes that apprentice Stel as a sweetheart, she will have to go away with him when he leaves here._

_What?_ Raven was suddenly concerned, his eyes wide. _No! She can't do that! She must stay here with us!_

Marnie patted his hands. _She's at the age where she wants to fight with us. Don't worry, we'll talk about this later._

Raven shrugged, but continued to throw suspicious looks at his daughter, who in turn made a point of ignoring her parents. Later, when the dancing began, she made a great show of dancing with Stel, who had emerged as if by magic from among the throng at the far tables. As they danced, Roisin kept one eye on him and one on her mother, turning around so often that Stel asked her what was the matter. She did not answer, but kicked up her heels in defiance.

Marnie and Raven joined in the dances as well, in the easier ones, where he could follow her steps. When the dances got faster, they stood to the side to watch Thoma and Mairhe, who had always been so skilled, show off their steps. When the set was over, Marnie snagged Peadar as he bid farewell to his latest partner, and pulled him onto the bench beside her. He was red-faced and sweating, his light brown hair sticking to his round face. He had grown into a sturdy, brash young man, not as tall as Thoma, but rather more heavy-set. Still he had not lost his boyish tendency for jesting and gaming.

"So, when will we see you married?" Marnie asked him.

"What?" Peadar helped himself to a tankard of ale that was left sitting on the table.

"Come now," Marnie chided. "You and Thoma are nearly of an age, and he already waited far too long. When will we see you settled down too?" She gave him a pointed look, to let him know she had heard the tales of his dissolute ways in the taverns by the docks. He only shrugged. "Haven't you met a suitable girl?" Marnie persisted.

Peadar shrugged again. "In truth, no. Besides, I am too busy. Now that Thoma has become Reeve, it's nothing but work all the time." Marnie gave him a disbelieving look. "Do not fret on my account, sister!" he said with a wink, then gave her a kiss on the cheek and went off to ask another girl to dance. Marnie watched him go consideringly. She had no doubt that he was greatly occupied with the Reeve's business now, but she also suspected that part of his hesitation was to bring a woman who did not know the hand-signs into Thoma's household. It was a dilemma she had no answer for.

As the summer turned to fall, Marnie began to think with more and more apprehension on the return of Lady Grange. Sera had now become better behaved, although there was still something of the hare in her wide brown eyes and distrustful, startled look. The only times she seemed truly at ease were when she was with Raven. Marnie tried to prepare her for her mother's return by speaking of it often, but Sera would not mind her.

_Your mother and father will be here soon to take you with them to Cairstiona_, Marnie said to her one day when they were the last two at the breakfast table. Sera merely stared at her blankly. Uncertain that Sera had understood her, Marnie repeated herself with simpler signs. _Mother_, she said. _Go with her. Your faraway home._

_No!_ Sera replied emphatically, kicking the table to emphasize her point. _I don't want._

_Yes_, Marnie countered. _You must go. Your mother wants you to be with her._

_No!_ Sera stood up suddenly, making the empty bench behind her fall over with a loud clatter. _I won't go! _Then she calmly turned, stepped over the fallen bench, and went out in the yard to search for Raven. Marnie considered going after her to scold her, but she was tired of fighting with the willful child. Instead, she merely righted the bench with a sigh and continued to clear away the breakfast dishes.

The Lady Grange's second appearance, like the first, was completely unannounced. On a warm fall day, the family was gathered around the table enjoying a peaceful dinner when once again there was an imperious banging on the door. With a heavy sense of foreboding, Marnie stood up to answer it, but the rest of the family stayed seated, more concerned with who would get the last slice of the fish pie Elly had made. Raven and Sera were sitting next to each other on the bench with their backs to the door, and they did not turn around when the door banged open to reveal a servant, followed by the Lady Grange standing on the doorstep. She looked even more imposing than Marnie had remembered, in a severe but luxurious gray woolen gown and her sharp face pinched by a tight, starched veil.

"The Lady Grange," the servant intoned, stepping aside.

Marnie curtsied awkwardly. "My lady," she murmured.

The lady arched an eyebrow at her. "Well?" she demanded. "How has my daughter fared this past year?"

"Very well, my lady," Marnie said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She has made such progress, she's hardly the same girl at all, we have been so pleased…" Eager to impress upon the Lady Grange the extent of her daughter's progress, as she was speaking she rushed over to the bench and tapped Sera on the shoulder to get her attention. Looking up in surprise, Sera turned and stood on her knees on the bench, one hand steadying herself on Raven's shoulder as she gave her mother a distrustful look. She gave no immediate sign of recognizing her.

_Your mother_, Marnie signed at her, speaking at the same time, as was her usual habit. _Say hello to her, tell her you missed her. _

_No. I don't like her,_ Sera replied stubbornly.

_Yes!_ Marnie said, a bit frantically. _She is here to take you back to Cairstiona. Now be a good girl and show her how much you have learned. Show her your best hand-words._

_No. I don't want to_, Sera said.

Marnie was about to reply, when Lady Grange interrupted their exchange. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "What in heaven's name are you doing?"

Marnie turned back to her, at a bit of a loss. What was she angry about now? "We're using the hand-words," she said. "This is how we talk."

"What!?" Lady Grange shrieked, her voice like a horse's whinny.

"This is how we talk," Marnie repeated. "With our hands."

"Whoever heard of such a thing!" Landy Grange spluttered. "You mean to say you taught my daughter this… this miming, this dumb show, rather than to speak with her mouth like a human being?"

Marnie stared at her, openmouthed. "But, I thought you knew…." she said, with growing horror and shame. "We talk with our hands. There is no other way."

"Impudent hussy!" Lady Grange seethed. "When I visited here, your own daughter spoke to me in the clearest tones. That one there, making those absurd gestures now!" She pointed a bony finger at Roisin, who had been frantically translating this exchange, but now she faltered and shrank against the table under the Lady Grange's withering stare.

"But my daughter can hear," Marnie said weakly. "I'm sure I never said…"

"I was told your children were deaf," Lady Grange stated grimly.

"No, my sons Robin and Conor are deaf, but Roisin is not." Marnie was starting to panic. "Please, I don't understand. I was sure you knew all this. Was no one else at home when you called?" Her memory of that meeting a year ago was hazy.

"No! Perhaps you were hiding them." Lady Grange's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I spoke to the Reeve's son myself, and he too spoke like a proper person."

Oh no, Marnie groaned inwardly. Not Thoma! He was usually so adamant about using the hand-signs. Why had he chosen this one occasion to use his voice? But she recalled the wedding, where he had greeted the guests with his voice. Peadar had mentioned to her as well that Thoma sometimes used his voice in simple greetings, to put people at their ease.

"But Thoma lost his hearing when he was ten years old," Marnie tried to explain. "He already knew how to speak before he became deaf, and now he still remembers how. But my sons and your daughter have never heard anything at all. They don't know what words sound like. I've tried to teach them, but it's so difficult. Even my husband can only say a few words, and not very clearly. They will never be able to speak as well as Thoma. I'm sorry, my lady, but that's the truth. They must talk with their hands."

Lady Grange drew herself up to her full height, her eyes snapping with rage. "I can see you have intentionally deceived me!" she shouted. "When I left my only daughter here, you said you could teach her to speak!" Marnie wracked her brains. Had she said such a thing? Surely not.

"I'm sure I never said…" she started, but Lady Grange cut her off.

"Enough! I will listen to no more of your prevarication! You have attempted to swindle me but I will not have it! I demand you return the money to me!"

Marnie set her jaw stubbornly. "I regret the misunderstanding, my lady, but I never intended to deceive you. My only aim was to help your daughter. If it's the money you want, the Reeve has it. You must go fetch it from him."

"Very well then," the Lady Grange hissed, and before anyone realized what was happening, she darted forward and snatched Sera off the bench, who all this time had still been kneeling by Raven's side. As the Lady Grange marched out the door, Sera leaned back over her shoulder, her arms outstretched, and gave a piercing, wailing shriek, that made Marnie's hair stand on end.

Raven leapt to his feet, shouting incoherently in his strangled, muffled voice, but he was too late, the door had already slammed shut. In the old days, when he was so quick to fly into a rage, he would have snatched the child back in an instant, but now, after years of domestic living, he paused to think before acting, and in that moment she was gone. For just that moment, Marnie regretted the loss of the wild, angry youth he had been.

Raven yanked the door open, and with the rest of the family close behind him, ran down the road, but they were all too late. The Lady Grange's cart disappeared in a cloud of dust and a clattering of hooves. Marnie could hear Sera's pitiful shrieks, but there was no way to catch up to them, and soon even her cries faded away.

They stood staring at each other in disbelief for a moment, then Raven began to sob loudly. _Little Hare, Little Hare_, he signed with shaking hands. The children stared at him in alarm, and began to cry as well. Marnie gestured for Elly to take them inside, then folded Raven in her arms, trying to comfort him, and herself as well.


	5. Chapter 5

6

Marnie could not recall a more miserable, cold winter. The house, normally full of laughter and commotion, was quiet and still. Even at dinner, the conversation was subdued, and inevitably, one of the children would ask about Sera.

_Do you think Little Hare is happy in Cairstiona? _Conor would ask.

Rather than answering, Roisin added,_ I wonder if anyone is signing to her._

_Of course not, they are all hearing_, Robin replied glumly.

_But maybe she could teach her mother and father, then they could sign to her,_ Conor countered, trying to be hopeful. _Right, Mama? Right? _He looked at Marnie, his brown eyes wide with concern. Marnie only sighed and did not answer. They repeated this conversation over and over, although Marnie tried to discourage them. Privately, thinking on the condition Sera had been in when she came to them, Marnie feared the worst for the child, but there was no point in feeding their anxiety, and in any case, there was no way for them to know what had become of her.

Raven, once he recovered from his initial violent grief, became completely withdrawn. He did not engage in the endless speculation about Sera, and spent the evenings staring listlessly into the fire. For the first time, he was beginning to show his age. A few white hairs stood out among his black curls.

Seemingly not a moment passed when Marnie did not think of Sera. She felt intensely guilty about all that had transpired. In her mind she went over and over the first meeting she had with Lady Grange. What exactly had she said? Did she really promise that she could teach Sera to talk? The idea of "talking" with her hands seemed so natural now, it was hard to remember a time when the idea had been strange and new. If only she had explained it more carefully.

When these thoughts came to her, without realizing it, she would begin to frown and chew her lower lip worriedly. Elly had learned what this look meant, and would break in on her anxious thoughts.

"You mustn't blame yourself, mistress," she would say. But Marnie did blame herself.

And worse, she now saw her own family through the Lady Grange's eyes. Their hand-words might be wonderfully expressive, but it was nothing like speech. Marnie herself had never lost the habit of speaking with her mouth as she signed with her hands, and as a result, Raven, Robin, Conor and even Roisin had a tendency to work their mouths as they were signing. Roisin did not make noise with her mouth, but Raven and the boys did, sometimes quite loudly, although they were themselves unaware of it. Marnie was so accustomed to this that she hardly noticed, but now it seemed to her that the noises they made, which were more like moans or guttural cries than speech, might sound strange or even offensive to on who was not used to it. Robin and Conor also had a tendency to thrust their tongues out in a way that made it clear they could not form proper words, while Sera often let her mouth hang slack as she signed. To someone like Lady Grange, they must look like simpletons or lunatics. Marnie shuddered, recalling the long-ago days in Torcurra. The more she thought it over, the more Marnie was convinced that only teaching them the hand-words had been a mistake. Long ago, when she had first invented the signs, she had taught Raven a few mouth-words, but as the signs became more expressive, he had lost interest in speaking. She had tried to teach the boys some words, but they had never progressed very far, although Conor certainly liked to shout and make noise.

Shortly after Lady Grange's disastrous return, Marnie had gone to visit Thoma and Mairhe. She was glad for a chance to see her brother and sister prospering in the young Reeve's household, but even so, her mood was subdued as they dined together. They had all heard about Sera.

_I am very sorry for what happened with the girl, Little Hare,_ Thoma said.

_Did you really speak to her mother with the mouth-words? _Marnie wanted to know. She tried not to look accusing, but Thoma's face filled with regret.

_Yes, I did,_ he nodded. _We only met for a moment. I was busy, and it seemed easier to speak to her than to send for Peadar. I only exchanged greetings with her. If I had known how much trouble it would cause, I would not have done so._

Mairhe shook her head vigorously. _No, it was not your fault. That woman believed only what she cared to. Even if you had used the hand-words with her, she still would not have been satisfied._

_I wonder,_ was all Marnie could reply, for in her heart of hearts she did not believe it. If only they could have explained things to her, things would have gone differently.

After the meal, Thoma took Marnie aside for a private talk in the counting room.

_I know you are sad about the child, _he said kindly_, but I brought you here to ask you about your own two sons. Have you given any thought to their futures?_

Marnie was taken aback. It was true, Robin at least was old enough to learn a trade, but lately she had been so consumed with Sera that she had been neglecting her own children.

_Do you intend to send them out as apprentices?_ Thoma asked. Marnie smiled bemusedly, thinking back to a similar conversation years ago with the old Reeve, Thoma's father.

_I suppose I will ask Donal if he will take them on as apprentices,_ she signed slowly.

Thoma nodded. _I know that Robin already spends much of his time in the workshop. It will be good for him. But Mairhe tells me that you have taught Conor to read and write._

It was true. Conor had discovered the parchments Marnie had used for practice where she kept them stored in the chest, and she had taught him his letters. Conor had taken to them instantly, much faster than Marnie herself had learned, although not surprisingly Robin had shown no interest.

Marnie nodded. _Yes, I have taught him what little I know, but that is all. _

Thoma's hands moved quickly. _Conor is a clever boy. It would be a shame not to teach him more. Will you let me teach him here?_

_You?_ Marnie blinked in surprise. _Do you mean to apprentice him as you did with Peadar?_

Thoma made an impatient sweeping motion, indicating that she had misunderstood her. _No, not me, not an apprentice. He is still too young. But if you are willing, my old tutor, Master Hugh, can teach him. He is getting old, so it would be easier if Conor comes here for lessons._

_Oh no_, Marnie said._ I can't ask such a thing of you. I am already in your debt, in your father's debt._

Thoma made a sweeping motion again, this time much more abruptly. _Nonsense. It would be a favor to me as well. Master Hugh is idle, with no boys to teach, but I haven't the heart to turn him out. Teaching Conor would give him something to occupy his time, and earn his keep. _Thoma's eyes twinkled at her as he gestured entreatingly. _Please, tell me you'll consider it._

Marnie smiled, recognizing his ploy for what it was, but she had to admit the plan had merit. _I will ask Raven, _she said.

To Marnie's dismay, Raven seemed to take little interest in the matter.

_Can't the boys stay here?_ he asked

_No,_ she explained, for the third time. _They must learn a trade, so they can earn money when they are grown, and not be idle._

_But I don't have a trade_, he replied, setting his jaw at her stubbornly.

_No_, she replied with a snap, _and you are idle. We have money thanks to the ring we found, which was luck, and thanks to the kindness of the Reeve. But it's not enough for our children, or our children's children to live on, so they must earn more. And besides, it is not good to be idle. Look at you. You sit about the house all day, and I know you are not happy._

He stared back at her, his expression blank and unreadable. Marnie faltered for a moment, afraid she had truly wounded him.

When he did not reply, she continued, _It is a parent's duty to give their sons a trade._

_What of Roisin? _he asked.

_Roisin will marry, and her husband will provide for her. But Robin and Conor must learn a trade so they can provide for their wives when they marry. That is the way of the world,_ she added insistently. It still surprised her after so many years that he seemed not to know such commonplace things.

Again Raven simply stared at her for a long moment, then at last said simply, _Do what you will_, and turned away.

Marnie was not to be dissuaded, in spite of Raven's lack of interest. She was accustomed to taking matters into her own hands. Her discussion with Donal was not as encouraging as she had hoped, however. If he were to take Robin on as full apprentice, once his seven years' indenture was over, the boy would have to spend two years as a journeyman in another town before he could set up a shop on his own. The guild rules were strict on this point--apprentices could not remain in the shop indefinitely, only the heir of the master could stay. Marnie also knew Donal was preparing to train his oldest son Daithy to take over the workshop as his heir, and she was loath to push Robin, who was older, in Daithy's place. But she could not imagine Robin moving to a strange town, where he knew no one, and even if he somehow managed as a journeyman, once he set up he own shop, how would he take orders or go to guild meetings? She and Donal debated the matter over and over. Donal was as attached to Robin as his own sons, but since becoming a master joiner, he was reluctant to anger the guild by breaking its rules. In the end, it was Fhiona who suggested a solution.

"If Robin marries one of our daughters, he can be like a second son. He won't be able to open his own shop, but he can stay on and work for Daithy without having to be a journeyman."

"What!" Marnie exclaimed. "He's much too young to be wed!"

Fhiona laughed. "Well, that can come later, but for now we can just say he is betrothed."

Marnie still looked doubtful. "But what if he chooses to marry someone else?" she asked.

Fhiona replied, "Have you seen how much time he spends with our Una? I'm sure he will have her and no other. But if it distresses you, we need not have a formal contract."

Marnie turned to Donal. "Is that so?"

Donal shrugged. "The guild will not mind what I do unless he sets up his own shop. If you are content to wait on the betrothal until they are older, I can still start training him now."

Marnie was distressed to think that Raven would not have his own shop, but there seemed to her no other way. Better that he should work among friends than not at all, and be reduced to beggary. As for the betrothal, she was determined to wait and say nothing, only see how Robin and Una liked each other when they were older.

The boys were ill pleased with being separated and set to different tasks all day, even though Conor did not live at the Reeve's house, but only visited there during the day. Even in their time at home, however, Marnie would not allow them to be idle as they had before, instead spending countless painstaking hours with them, endeavoring to teach them to speak. It was hard going, and they resisted her mightily at first, but with the image of the feral little girl Sera in her mind, she was determined to at least get them to speak a little more. Not to please Lady Grange, for she knew they would never speak as the haughty lady imagined. But the thought of her sons being shunned and feared as Raven had once been, or being alone and terrified like Sera, she could not bear. They would at least learn enough to say their names to strangers, and prove their intelligence.

One day, as Marnie was clearing away the breakfast in the kitchen, she heard a strange guttural shout from the front room, where the boys were dawdling over their porridge, now turned cold. She paused, and heard it again: "MAMA!"

Wiping her hands on her apron, she went running out to the front room, to find Conor looking into his bowl with a studied innocence, and Robin staring at her in surprise.

_What?_ she shook her finger at them. They both shrugged elaborately, and she went back into the kitchen.

Again she heard the shout, "MAMA!"

She ran back out again, to find Conor now holding his sides, barking with laughter, and Robin poking him impatiently, asking what he had done in small gestures that he thought she could not see. She pursed her lips at both of them, then gave Conor a little rap on the head and went back into the kitchen with a great show of annoyance, but secretly she was pleased. Having discovered the power of speech, the boys at last seemed more willing to talk. Mairhe reported that Conor sometimes spoke to the servants and apprentices in the Reeve's house, and she even heard Robin say a word or two when he thought she was not about. Their voices were loud and harsh, and they could only say a few words with any clarity, but her mind was much easier once this change had come about.

Just when Marnie was feeling easier about the boys, and they seemed to be settling to their new tasks, things with Roisin came to a crisis. Roisin had always been so good and obedient, Marnie had let her have her own way and had not kept as close an eye on her as she might have. The winter was at last passing and giving way to a damp, chilly spring, when one afternoon she went out to fetch water from the well and found Roisin crouched against one of the apple trees. She was not sure at first what was happening, but the moment she saw Roisin's tearstained face, all became clear. Marnie sat down beside her on one of the roots that thrust up from the ground. At first Roisin made as if to run and hide, but Marnie grabbed her arm and pulled her towards her, and almost at once Roisin stopped resisting and collapsed on her breast in a flood of tears.

"Oh Mama!" she hiccupped, "Stel is leaving!"

Marnie sighed deeply, regretting that she had not stepped in sooner to put a stop to this.

"He's going to Harrow to be a journeyman, that's over two week's journey away from here! Why! Why does he have to leave?"

Marnie handed her the cloth she had tucked into her waistband and as Roisin wiped at her face, she said, "You know all the apprentices have to go far away to be journeymen."

"But I thought he would stay for me!"

Marnie shook her head in exasperation. "Did he every promise to stay?"

Roisin looked away. "Not in so many words, but I thought…"

Marnie stared at her intently. "You haven't granted him any favors, have you?" When Roisin gaped at her, she asked more directly, "Are you carrying his child?"

Roisin turned dark red. "Mama! No!"

Marnie breathed a sigh of relief. "Well thank the lord for that at least. So what do you intend to do? Will you go with him?"

Roisin hesitated. "May I?"

Marnie gripped her hands strongly. "If you are determined to go with him, I cannot stop you, but you know I do not wish it. Roisin, I need you to stay here to care for your father and brothers. What will they do when I am gone? Who else knows the hand-words as well as you?"

"Auntie Mairhe--"

"Mairhe has her own family to look after. Think on this. Would you leave your father and brothers all alone in the world? Conor may shift for himself when he is older, but what of Robin? Would you have him be alone in the world, like Sera?"

As she spoke these last words, Roisin's red eyes became wider and wider. Marnie could see the struggle painted plainly on her daughter's face, and it pained her, but the words had to be spoken.

Roisin set her chin defiantly against her. "You went off and left your mother and father," she said.

Marnie drew her hands away. "Yes, I did," she said, "But it was to serve them, not to serve myself. And I never saw my mother or my home again. Is that what you truly desire?"

Roisin gave an inarticulate yell and jumped to her feet. "You don't understand!" she shouted, her face red and contorted, then she ran off and into the house.

Marnie stood with a groan, stiff from having crouched so long on the chilly ground. The water still needed fetching from the well. As she was hauling the bucket slowly, Fhiona passed by in her own yard, and came over for a talk.

"Why did you not tell me of this sooner?" Marnie cried, although she knew it was unfair to blame her friend.

Fhiona shook her head ruefully. "Will you let Roisin go off with that apprentice?" she asked.

Marnie looked at the ground. "I told her not to go." She looked up again, wringing her hands. "Oh, but I fear I have said the wrong thing! It does seem unfair to keep her at home."

"But you do need her here," Fhiona replied.

"Yes, but is she to be a spinster and live only for her father and brothers? How can I deny her a family of her own? How has it come to this? When I wed Raven, I did so for love, and I do not grudge him for spending my life serving the deaf, but I did not think I would also visit that fate on my entire family, my own sister and now my only daughter…"

Fhiona patted her hands reassuringly. "Do not fret so! Is your family not a happy one? Mairhe has made an excellent match, and wants for nothing. Is that so hard a fate? And as for Roisin, do not worry over her. That apprentice is no great catch, and there are plenty of other young men in the town who will take an interest in her, you'll see."

The rest of the day, Roisin remained hidden upstairs, and Marnie let her be. At supper she at last descended and joined them at the table with a pale face and red eyes. Conor noticed immediately, and pestered her with questions.

_What is it? Are you crying? What is wrong?_ he asked, tugging at her sleeve to get her attention. She turned away without answering, but the others had noticed now too.

Robin gave her a sly grin and said, _She's going away with that apprentice Stel. She's going to marry him and go far far away with him_.

_What?_ Raven banged on the table in surprise, making the plates jump. _No! Joy-of-my-heart, is this true?_

Roisin stared at them, seemingly unable to answer.

Raven continued to harangue her. _How can you go off and leave us? First Sera, and now you, is no one to stay here?_

Roisin's eyes filled with tears again. Without a reply, she bolted up from the table and ran upstairs again.

_Now look what you have done! _Marnie reproached all of them.

_Me?_ Raven stared back at her, looking stubborn and hurt. _She can't leave! Make her stay!_

_I can't make her stay_, Marnie replied. _She is stubborn and headstrong like you_, she said, pointing at Raven forcefully. _She must come to it on her own. Do not trouble her about this any more. Especially you, _she said to the boys, who looked away with studied indifference.

Weeks passed, and Roisin seemed to be about the house more often, but as Marnie had ordered, no one commented upon it. At last, one night over supper, Robin burst out, _Stel left to be a journeyman today_, then dropped his hands with a guilty look at his sister. Roisin turned pale but did not reply, and that was the end of it. Later, as they were preparing for bed, Marnie pulled her aside to see how she fared. Roisin would only shrug. Marnie hugged her tightly, and smoothed her curly black hair, so much like her own.

"I couldn't leave you and Papa," Roisin said at last, her voice muffled as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder.

Marnie hugged her again. "There will be others," she promised.

And so the spring at last turned warmer, and the summer was nearly upon them. The boys were gone from the house most days, but home in the evenings. Marnie was doubly glad Roisin had decided to stay, for as word had got around, there were more people come to learn the hand-signs from them, some who would only come for a few days and others who came and stayed longer, so the house was always alive with activity and people coming and going. Roisin was particularly skilled at teaching the signs, and patient even with the slowest students. Marnie was relieved to see that she took to the task joyfully, and did not seem burdened with it, as she had feared.

At the same time, while Robin was apprenticed to Donal, Raven spent more time in the shop as well, and not only watching, but doing real work. There was still a lingering sadness about him, and from time to time he would fall into a dark mood. Marnie knew he was thinking of Sera, and did not disturb him. But these spells were not so often as they had been, and he at last seemed to take more pleasure from his surroundings. One afternoon in great excitement he fetched Marnie out of the kitchen, and nothing would do but that she come to Donal's workshop with him. In a corner of the shop, he showed her a great wooden chair, with a rich leather seat, and finely chased carvings around the arms and back.

_I made it_, he told her, with a gleam in his eye that she had not seen for many months. _I made it all, the whole thing, for a rich merchant and Donal will take the money from him and give it to me._

Marnie turned around in surprise. "Is this true?" she asked Donal, who was standing behind her, watching with great good humor.

Donal nodded, and answered with the hand-signs. _Yes, he does good work, very fine, I give him real work._ Raven grinned broadly and puffed out his chest.

_Very fine, _he repeated.

"Is that alright with the guild?" Marnie asked. "You have already bent the rules for Robin…"

Donal shrugged. "I am the master of my own shop. As long as he doesn't set up his own shop, I can employ whoever I want here."

Raven waved his hands impatiently, cutting off their exchange. From a box behind the chair, he produced a small object and placed it in her hands.

_For you_, he said. It was a carving of a hare, about to spring, with one ear cocked. Marnie had never seen anything so lifelike.

_You made this too? _she asked, her signed somewhat truncated as she held the carving in one hand.

Raven nodded proudly. _Yes, a hare for you. I get the fish for dinner and make real furniture to sell. You see, I am not idle._

Marnie grasped him and kissed him on either cheek. _I know_, she said.

Sera's return to them was as unannounced and precipitous as her departure had been. It was high summer, the better part of a year since Lady Grange had taken her back. After the upheavals of the winter and spring, the household had at last fallen into a calm routine. As it happened, both boys were home for dinner, and Conor was entertaining the family with the tale of a pirate attack on a merchant ship, which he had learned in the Reeve's house. He was standing on the bench with his back to the door, gesturing broadly as the rest of the family watched, the remains of the meal spread before them. The artful way his hands sketched the struggle on the rolling waves, it was as if they could see it before them.

There was a pounding at the door, and Elly jumped up to answer it, but Conor did not see her get up, and so continued his story, heedless until at last he noticed everyone else standing and staring, and making for the door. He was the last to turn and see in the doorway was Robert of Cairstiona, very richly dressed as before, but dusty and windblown, as if he had been traveling a great distance. And in his arms, looking equally travel worn, was little Sera.

Raven gave a low yelp and leapt towards the door. _Little Hare! Little Hare!_

Sera leaned towards him, signing_ Papa! Papa! _then flung herself around his neck. Raven hugged her tightly, then pulled her away to sign to her, _We missed you! Are you well? We are so glad you are here!_

_Little Hare sad, no see Papa_, she signed. Marnie noted with dismay that her signs were once again slow and awkward, and she seemed to have fallen back into babyish patterns rather than forming the sentences properly. Although the better part of a year had passed, she had not grown bigger, but rather seemed thinner, and the sunken look had returned to her face.

All this happened in an instant, however, before Robert the miller could greet them himself. Marnie winced, and hoped that he had not noticed his daughter calling Raven _Papa_, or that he did not know what the signs meant.

There was a great commotion, as everyone pressed forward to sign at Sera, and she hid her face in Raven's shoulder in fright. Robert seemed to be at a loss, so Marnie stepped forward to speak to him.

"I beg your pardon, my lord," she said, but we are very pleased to see your daughter again. My husband had been quite worried about her while she was gone."

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Mistress O'Field," he said, bowing to her again. Marnie was a bit taken aback by all this formality, but urged him to enter, and sent Elly and Roisin to clear the table and bring more food for the guests. She settled Robert at the table and did her best to make him comfortable. He watched Sera and Raven engaged in what appeared to be a long conversation, although Marnie could tell it was mainly loving nonsense.

"You must excuse us for arriving unannounced and without servants," he said. "I'm sure you are wondering why we have returned, and I would not take it amiss if you bear us no good will."

"Why, not at all," Marnie replied. "As you can see, we have all missed Sera and are happy to see her again But your lady wife..."

Robert sighed heavily. "I must apologize for what I am sure were words unbecoming of my lady wife. In spite of what she may have said to you, I have come to bring Sera here to live again, if you will have her. I will of course provide for her--"

"You must understand," Marnie cut him off. "We cannot teach her to speak as your lady wife desires. She will speak with her hands, not her mouth, at best a few words."

Sir Grange nodded carefully. "Yes, that seems to be the way of it."

Marnie still hesitated. "So then for another year? How long? And you must know, we are not so high in station that we may teach her courtly manners or find her a bridegroom such as your lady wife desires."

Robert looked pained. "My lady wife," he said again, with much bitterness. "Again, I am very sorry for the distress she has caused you. The Lady Grange is dissatisfied with her station, and sought to better it through her daughter's advantageous match. But even she now accepts that door is closed to her."

"If I may be so bold," Marnie ventured, "what happened when she took Sera home?"

"As you may guess, there was much storming and bitter reproof. For a short time, she again attempted to teach the child to speak herself, but it came to nothing." He paused for a moment, and Marnie realized he was nearly overcome with emotion. "Ah, mistress, it breaks my heart to think on it! When Sera first returned to us, she was so changed, I hardly recognized her. So pretty and neat, I was sure she had been treated kindly. But after a month at home, it was all the same again, she was sullen and lost weight, and spent all her time crying or raging. To think she prospered in a stranger's house, and in her own home, persecuted and miserable…"

Marnie blushed and turned away. It was as she had feared. "Did she use the signs at all?" she asked at length.

Robert nodded. "Yes, all the time, but with none to understand her, poor thing. At last her nurse learned a few of them, and I as well, but never so many as to satisfy her, and her mother would fly into a passion whenever she saw it."

"How cruel!" Elly burst out, but Marnie shushed her and bade her go into the kitchen. Marnie apologized, deeply embarrassed, but Robert only shook his head.

"No, it is as your maid says, how could a mother be so cruel to her own daughter? And it is even worse than that. When she realized Sera would never make a good match, she turned her ambitions elsewhere, and through the introduction of a distant cousin, as become a lady-in-waiting to the wife of the Earl of Cairstiona, and has gone to the manor to live with her. As soon as her ambition was satisfied, she threw over her own family and said she no longer cared what became of the child." Marnie gasped in surprise. "And still Sera was pining to come back here, so I took her here myself. I could tell from the first moment that this is where she truly belongs." Robert suddenly looked at Marnie beseechingly. "I will set her up handsomely, but may I leave her here with you?"

Marnie was taken aback. "You want to leave her here with us? Forever?"

"You must think me the worst kind of father, to abandon his own child," Robert replied. "And I tell you, it breaks my heart to give her up, but it pains me worse to see her suffering in her own home. I know she will be treated more kindly here than in my household, though it shames me to say it."

Marnie stared at him, but his face was open and entreating, so different from his haughty wife, and she could not but be moved by his words. She turned to Raven, interrupting his affectionate games with Sera, and repeated what the miller had told her. _What do you think?_ she asked. _Should we take her to live here with us, always?_

Raven grinned broadly. _I am very happy. You know I want her to stay here and be our daughter._

_But do you think it is right? _she pressed him._ Is it not wrong for us to take another man's child?_

_If she goes back with him,_ Raven gestured dismissively, _no one will talk to her, she will be alone always, and be sad and cry every day. Little Hare must stay here with us, where she can talk with the hand-words and not be lonely._

Marnie sighed, for she knew what he said was true, but for her own peace of mind, she had to be sure. She turned to Sera, shaking her arm to get her attention. And yet before she could even ask where the child preferred to be, she had to be clear on one thing. She pointed to the miller and asked, _Who is that man?_

_My father,_ Sera replied, to Marnie's vast relief.

_And what about him? _Marnie asked, pointing to Raven. _Who is he?_

_My other father, _Sera replied without hesitation.

_So you have two families, one here and one in Cairstiona?_ Marnie asked. Sera appeared puzzled, so she repeated it again, slowly. At last Sera nodded seriously, and repeated, _two homes._

_Which one do you want to live in, this one or the Cairstiona home? _Marnie asked her.

_Here! Here! _Sera signed broadly. _Little Hare no like other home! Stay here!_

_Are you sure? _Marnie pressed her. _If you stay here, you can never go back, never see your other mother and father again. Stay here forever?_

Sera nodded vigorously.

Marnie turned back to the miller. "It seems you are right, she would prefer to stay here," Marnie said, doing her best to seem impartial. She could not bring herself to tell him that Sera already thought of this as her true home, but perhaps he had realized that long ago.

Robert stayed in Killacurreen for a week, to satisfy himself that Sera was well cared for, and settling a sum of money on Marnie for her keep. During this time, as Marnie was ashamed at the poor conditions for such an exalted guest at her own home, she arranged for him to stay in far greater comfort at the Reeve's house. Robert became acquainted with Thoma and Mairhe, and greatly impressed with the running of their household, confided as much to Marnie.

"The young Reeve is a remarkable fellow," he said to her. "Seeing him so prosperous puts me at greater ease about Sera's prospects when she is grown."

Marnie smiled. "You need not fear on that account. We will see that she is always provided for."

And so Sera's father took his leave of them, with great sadness at leaving her behind, but reassurances that he would return whenever he could to see how she fared. Marnie was pleased to see that even in those few days in the Reeve's house, Robert had learned a few more of the hand-words, and took his leave of Sera himself. She very solemnly promised to remember him and look for his return, although it was clear she was greatly relieved to be living in Killacurreen again.

Marnie had never thought she would be so pleased to see the child that had at first caused her so much grief, but on Sera's return, there was a sense that their family was complete again. Certainly Raven was overjoyed to have her back, and his good humors returned. Just as her own family was feeling more settled, Mairhe confided in her sister that she would soon have their first child, and at almost the same time, Peadar at last brought home a wife.

Marnie had been troubled for a long time that her youngest brother seemed to cling to the wild ways of youth for too long, and was reluctant to marry. She had long suspected that he was unwilling to bring a woman into the house who did not know the hand signs. In the end, he went to what seemed to her the opposite extreme, and brought home a foreign woman, whom he had met overseas on the Reeve's business, a dark-skinned woman of strange beauty who went by the name Vica. This woman, still young and apparently of great good humor, did not speak their language at all when Peadar first brought her home, and he often joked that it was easier to teach her the hand-words than the mouth-words. Indeed, there seemed to be something to what he said, for although she eventually learned their language well enough, her accent was always hard to understand, but conversely, she became quite voluble and even eloquent with the hand-words fairly quickly. Although Peadar had married her out of hand on shipboard, Thoma insisted on having a bridal feast for them as soon as he was able, which as it turned out was not until the end of the summer, for it took some time to arrange such an elaborate feast.

It was as they were preparing for the feast, and Marnie and Roisin and Elly were engaged every day in sewing the clothes for the bride and groom, that she had an unexpected visitor. Father Seamus, now a very old man, had more or less retired and left the main work of running the church and holding the mass to a younger priest, but he still made the rounds among his parishioners. Indeed, he now came to visit their household more often than he had in previous years. On this day, as Marnie, Roisin and Elly were sitting on the bench in front of the house, taking full advantage of the bright sunlight for their needlework, they noticed a cloud of dust coming up the road, and soon recognized Father Seamus' little cart, but as he approached it became clear that he bore with him a companion, even more aged and wizened than he.

"Mother, who is that old man?" Roisin asked as the cart drew up before their house, but instead of answering, Marnie leapt from the bench with a whoop unbecoming one of her age, and rushed to the side of the cart to embrace the old man. It was Father Brannan, now much reduced, thin and wrinkled, with most of his red hair gone, but seemingly no less joyful to see her again.

"Marnie my girl, you have not changed a bit! I would have recognized you anywhere!" he shouted, as she helped him down from the cart. They embraced again, and Marnie at last introduced him to the astonished Roisin and Elly.

"But what brings you here, Father?" Marnie inquired at last.

"Why, to see you, of course! I have thought long these many years on how you and your Raven have fared in the world, and I swore that before I died I would see you prosperous and happy. I only regret that nearly twenty years had to pass before I found time for the journey."

Nothing would do but that both Father Brannan and Father Seamus come in and take their dinner with them, and spend the day visiting and conversing. Conor was away at his lessons at the Reeve's house, but Raven and Robin soon came back from Donal's workshop at dinner time. Raven was astounded to see Father Brannan again, recognizing him at once with a great show of emotion, cries and embraces. Marnie explained his visit, and Raven insisted on seating him at the head of the table, and pouring his wine himself, as befitted him as the master of the household. As the meal began with the customary noise and commotion, Father Brannan turned to Marnie in wonder.

"The mad boy of Torcurra! Who could have imagined it?"

Marnie hushed him. "We do not like to speak of such painful memories here. And think, he has been the master of his own house for longer than he was the wild boy."

Father Brannan nodded. "Indeed! I would hardly have recognized him, he has changed so completely, and it is all to your credit, my dear." Marnie blushed. "But these flutterings with the hands have only increased! Such noise, and yet I can't understand a word!" For as usual, the family was conversing for the most part with their hands, punctuated with shouts and cries, or banging on the table or floor to get someone's attention. Even Father Seamus had learned a few signs, and was asking Robin how he liked his work.

Marnie looked down the table with great satisfaction, then turned to Father Brannan with a laugh. "Yes," she said, "The rule is that all in this house must learn the hand-words and use them, and if you wish to visit with us you must learn them too!" Father Brannan laughed with her, but insisted he was much too old to learn, and to her dismay made no move in that direction. Although she had hoped that he and Raven would have much to talk about, both seemed satisfied with a simple greeting. In spite of her efforts to translate, the conversation between the two of them did not go much further than that.

Father Brannan stayed in Killacurreen for two weeks, lodging in the rectory with Father Seamus, but spent many days visiting with Marnie. She also took him to the Reeve's house and introduced him to Thoma, and to her sister and brother, whom he greeted with great kindness, but of all the family he seemed the most impressed with Conor, although of course he did not speak to him directly. They also met with Master Hugh, Conor's tutor, and the two had a long, animated conversation as the boy copied out his lesson for the day.

"That boy of yours is remarkable," Father Brannan commented to Marnie later. "Did you really teach him his letters yourself?"

Marnie blushed. "Just a bit, when he was younger. But it was thanks to you, Father, that I learned myself, although as you said, I have had little occasion to use it."

"But to think he has learned to read and write! And what is more, Master Hugh tells me he has learned Latin as well."

"Has he now?" Marnie had not heard this before.

"Indeed! Master Hugh himself is not sure how he picked it up, only that he gave him the lessons to copy, and he somehow worked it out on his own. To learn to read and write in two languages he can neither hear nor speak, I tell you, that boy has a rare talent."

Marnie found herself at a loss for words.

"Do you have a plan for the boy's future?" Father Brannan pressed on.

"No, he is not yet ten years. For now, he is only studying with Master Hugh as a sort of favor to Thoma to give the master something to do. He's not an apprentice, and Thoma does not seem inclined to make him one."

Father Brannan nodded eagerly. "Good, even better! He shall go into the church."

"What?" Marnie had not thought on this. Killacurreen was a shipping town; there were not many churchmen there.

"There is a monastery just to the east of here, over the hills. There are men of great learning there who can make him a great scholar. The ordered way of life there would suit him very well. The monks discourage idle conversation. He need not speak at all."

Privately, Marnie wondered how well this really would suit Conor, who was friendly and sociable. On the other hand, he did seem quite taken with his studies already. Perhaps there was some merit in this. She promised to discuss the matter with Raven.

Father Brannan laughed. "The thought of discussing something with him still seems strange to me," he admitted. Marnie gave him a sharp look, and he added a bit sheepishly, "But he is as you say the master of the house, of course you must discuss the matter with him."

At Marnie's insistence, Father Brannan stayed on for Peadar's wedding feast. The day was warm and sunny, and like Thoma and Mairhe's wedding, the feast was held outside in the town square, with tables and chairs set up for the invited guests, food for all in the town who wished to attend, and generous handouts for the poor. Peadar sat at the center of the table, his broad face grinning with delight as he pinched and teased his dark bride. Vica for her part seemed to take his teasing with good humor. Thoma and Mairhe sat on either side of them. Mairhe was now grown very large and looking like her time was nearly upon her, but it did not seem to trouble her, although she perhaps moved a bit slowly. Marnie sat at the far end of the main table, next to Father Brannan, with Raven and the children before her.

Father Brannan leaned towards Marnie with a twinkle in his eye. "You have raised a fine family, my girl," he said to her in a low voice.

Marnie stared back at him in surprise, startled at how much it meant to her to hear him say so. "Truly?" she asked. "Oh Father, you do not know how many times I have doubted myself!"

Father Brannan placed a wrinkled hand on hers, and gestured down the table with the other. "How could you doubt it?" he asked. Marnie followed his gaze. Robin and Conor had fallen into one of their deep, complex conversations, while Roisin was signing the words to a ballad sung by one of the nearby troubadours to the enchanted Sera. Raven, seated the furthest away, was conversing with Thoma, and even with other guests who passed by to give their greetings.

"Who could ever have imagined it?" Father Brannan continued. "Only you, mistress." Watching their shining, smiling faces and fluttering hands, Marnie was filled with the deepest joy and contentment.

After the meal, the pipes and drums began to play in earnest, and the guests drifted away from the table to join the dancing. Marnie was pleased to see Roisin dancing with several boys. Perhaps as Fhiona had said, she would find a better match in town. She seemed to have recovered from her broken heart faster than Marnie would have guessed. Not only that, but lately Roisin seemed to take her role as a teacher of the hand-signs much more seriously, and spent many hours with the frequent visitors to their house. Like her mother, she seemed determined to keep the house as place for any who wished to come and learn the hand-signs from them.

As for the boys, after much discussion, she and Raven had decided to send Conor to the church in two more years. Raven was aggrieved at the idea of any of the children leaving, but Marnie had convinced him that it was for the best. She watched Conor run off with a group of boys, some of whom she recognized from the Reeve's household and some she did not. It broke her heart to send him away so young, but seeing him playing with the hearing boys so easily gave her hope that he could make his own way in the world, and she swelled with pride to think of him becoming a great scholar.

Her other children would stay close to home, she was sure. She could see Robin dancing next to Una, Fhiona and Donal's second daughter. Robin was gamely if a bit stiffly following her lead, while Una encouraged him with a quick gesture. Perhaps as Fhiona had said, they would wish to marry. Marnie hoped they might come to an agreement when they were a bit older. It would be a good match. Una was a sweet girl, adept with the hand-words, and marrying into the family would make it easier for Robin to take a place in the workshop.

Nearby, close to the musicians, but a little ways away from the circle of dancers, Raven was playing with Sera, swinging and whirling her about by the hands as fast as he could, until her feet left the ground, and she shrieked with delight. Marnie went over to them, and they both smiled at her expectantly. She and Raven each took one of Sera's hands and the three of them danced in a ring, laughing.

The End


End file.
